


Easy Speaking Medley

by Nanyoky



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Detectives, Drinking, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, Light-Hearted, M/M, Murder, Overdosing, Past Relationship(s), Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Speakeasies, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6266932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanyoky/pseuds/Nanyoky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton is the most observant detective in the precinct, and he still manages to be the last to know everything. It's 1933, and no one has actually met the owner of the Iron Legion club, Natasha Romanov has a unique take on this whole 'caring for others' thing, and no one is paying Sam Wilson to flirt with the damn Hunyak</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All That Jazz

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, Team. I was kinda bummed with the lack of cheerful Prohibition AUs in the vein of "Some Like It Hot," so I accidentally wrote one. The tags make this sound a lot darker than it actually is, I swear. Most of the darker things are just environmental stuff typical of the setting. So there's dark stuff happening, but it's definitely light and Teen rated. Just- don't go around calling people Hunyaks. It's not very nice.  
> Also every chapter title is the name of a song either from the period or from a musical or movie set in the period. It's not exactly a songfic, but see if you can spot all six merry murderesses of the Cook County jail. ;)  
> Pretty much all the characters we know and love will show up at one point, some more than others. The ones listed in the tags are just the ones we see the most of. This was originally meant to be pretty heavy Clintasha, but there is also a lot of birdbros so enjoy that.  
> If you like, here's the playlist of the songs used for my chapter titles [HERE](http://8tracks.com/nellmakinjams/easy-speaking-medley)!  
> 

New York in 1933 was still moving at the pace of the 20s. Skirts were short, buildings tall, and Detective Clint Barton wasn't getting enough sleep. He'd been closing up a drugs ring case, putting the finishing touches on the plans and briefing his task force, when Captain Fury called him into his office to transfer him to an underground drinking case. It was punishment. It had to be. These cases were more trouble than they were worth. The establishments that dealt in more sinister matters than booze were already being investigated, and those that kept out of prostitution and drugs were all but necessary to keep the peace in the city. Hoover had greatly underestimated how much Americans liked their alcohol.

The man behind the counter of the tailors shop was much more unassuming and clean cut than Clint had expected. He had expected muscle, not a glorified butler. The stranger folded his paper neatly and greeted him with an expression of polite attention.

"Good evening sir. Lovely weather."

"Yeah- but uh- I always bring an umbrella."

"Very good, sir."

The Englishman pushed a key on the cash register in front of him. He returned to his newspaper as Clint strode through the door that appeared as a shelf of ties swung back. With the damage to his hearing from the bombs on the front, it took a flight of stairs before he could hear the music. Another flight before he could hear the laughter.

The door at the bottom of the stairs opened up into the Iron Legion club. Noise, smoke and the pressing heat of too many bodies in one place assaulted him the minute he stepped inside. The lamps along the walls cast everything in a gold and red shimmer, an effect enhanced by the jewelry and sequins adorning the women of the establishment. Clint blended in well with the men, his grey suit was one of his better ones and he was glad he'd picked it. The patrons of the Legion dressed slightly better than your average detective down at the precinct. A full brass band played on a platform on one end of the room, girls in short, fringed dresses dancing on a narrow raised strip not far off. Patrons danced as well, anywhere they could fit. It seemed a miracle that no one was being shoved or kicked. Clint dodged a strawberry blond who seemed intent on getting into his eye line and tried to spot someone who looked in charge.

"You are lost, I think."

Clint didn't notice the round faced young woman at his elbow until she spoke in a low, heavy accent that he couldn't quite place. She was draped in miles of red and black fringed lace and snapped a brass handled fan open with a lacquered set of fingers as she spoke. Clint didn't even know the beauty shops sold black nail polish. It made her otherwise delicate hands look like claws.

"Not so much. But I am lookin for someone."

"If it is for me," she took a drag from the cigarette in her free hand, eyeing him skeptically. "I am afraid you are out of luck."

Clint blinked and scowled. Cheeky thing. "Don't flatter yourself, Kid. I'm here to see the man of the house."

She quirked an eyebrow and scoffed. "No one sees the Iron Man. Everyone knows this."

"Listen, I was told to come and ask for Nathan Rushman, alright? So I ain't in the mood for no games."

A broad grin that Clint definitely did not like spread across her face just as a sharp, abrupt laugh erupted at his shoulder.

"Nathan Rushman?" A young man with bottle blond hair and a throaty accent to match the woman's slid languidly past Clint to join her in her critical staring at the newcomer. "Who wants to know _Mr. Nathan Rushman_?"

"My friend says Hawkeye should do me just fine round here."

"You talk like policeman, Hawk."

Clint met the younger man's haughty stare evenly. He'd worked plenty of undercover cases. He wasn't about to be scared off by this jumped-up kid.

"You get a lot of policemen in here, Goldilocks?"

"Oh, _hundreds_ ," the woman's smile was not diminished, but Clint was getting the distinct feeling that she knew exactly who he was and why he was there. There was something not quite right about the way she stared. Like she knew something embarrassing about you and couldn't wait to tell someone you admire. "Commissioner loves to hear us. Say we remind him of grandchildren in Queens."

"Captain Strutger say we should be on Broadway. He knows people."

The two laughed as though at a private joke. Clint was rapidly losing what little patience he had. The thick smoke and blaring sax solo from the stage were giving him a splitting headache, and he couldn't think of two people who had ever annoyed him more.

"Do you know Rushman or do I gotta find someone more important than a couple of Russian jokesters in this joint?"

"We are not Russian."

"What did your friend tell you about Nathan Rushman?" The woman was still giving him that look.

"Just that Nat Rushman is the one to talk to if I want a piece of the action."

"Not sure you can handle this action, old man."

Clint finally threw up his hands. "I'll find him myself. Thanks for all your help."

"We are needed on stage anyway. Come, Pietro."

"Yes, _vas'tacha_."

Clint was still scowling as he made his way to the bar. It was difficult, as half of New York seemed crammed into the basement. Bodies pressed against him on all sides, only some seemed accidental. Everyone was shouting over the band, playing in full ensemble now that Clint's new friends had returned to their places. Snatches of conversations all around him made their way into Clint's ears.

"Rough day at the office?"

"I swear," A woman dressed like a secretary in a sharp blue suit gestured animatedly with a plastic drink sword, complete with speared olive. "If Rumlo comes up behind me and pops that gum one more time-"

"You'll what, Maria? Fire a pair of warning shots with that cute little derringer you've got in your purse?"

"Warning shots? In his head maybe."

"I'll have the Heartbreaker!"

"You seen Banner around lately?"

"On the wagon."

" _No_!"

"Poor bastard."

"Hey, Nat! Need three Heartbreakers and a Patriot!"

Clint angled himself in the direction of the shout. At the bar, there was miraculously one stool open on the very end. He took a seat and craned his neck to get a look at the curvy, red headed bartender, but her back was turned.

"Hey- barkeep? A word?"

"Got drinks to make, Sweetness," she called over her shoulder. "Might be a minute."

Clint waited, fiddling with a napkin someone had left behind. The red and black woman's smoky alto was filling up the room on the last notes of her song.

" _Ohh I'm no one's wife but- oooh I love my life!"_

"So-"

Clint looked up and nearly swallowed his tongue as his eyes met those of the bartender. She was standing in front of him like a queen, hands on her hips and chin tilted to the heavens.

" _And all that..."_

"What can I do for you, Detective Barton?"

"Hey there, Natasha."

" _Jazz!"_


	2. Don't Tell Mama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kudos right away! The first few chapters of this fic are probably going to come pretty fast because I just want to get it out there. Things will slow down, since I'm graduating and trying to find a job in the next few months. But for now, enjoy the updates as we meet the staff of The Iron Legion!

"First off what in all fired hell are you doing here, Romanov?"

"This is _my_ club, detective. What are _you_ doing here?"

Clint could feel his heartbeat in his temples. This was not happening. And if it was, Fury was more angry with him than he had thought. He tried to remember whatever it was he'd done recently that deserved a mission involving Natasha Romanov and no warning. "You do not own the Iron Legion, Natasha."

"Ah but that's where you're wrong. I do. At least- Natalie Rushman does."

"We have you on file. Using an alias is virtually useless."

"But the paperwork," she treated him to her best slow smile. "It'll take months to confirm me as the one who signed the lease. And in that time, the Iron Man will have time to shuffle his business about and keep all the rest of his employees afloat. And his lawyers will find every loophole in the book to ensure I do the minimum amount of time necessary."

Clint shook his head and looked down at his hands. He'd been shredding the stray napkin as she spoke. He brushed the remains off the edge of the counter in the vain hope she hadn't seen. There was no point. She always saw everything.

"You're not the type to play fall-gal for some entitled-"

"I like it here," she flipped a careless hand. "And I'm good at it. Not everyone gets to do what they like and what they're good at. I haven't always, so I'm taking advantage now."

Clint satisfied himself with just glaring for a moment. Not staring. Definitely glaring. It had been so long since he had an opportunity to glare at her perfectly arched brows and pouting lips. She was letting her hair grow out with the current trends, but still curled it and wrapped it up in her bejeweled headband. You could glare and still take in details.

"It's been-"

"Too long," she was still smiling. "Budapest, remember? Good time."

"It was _Little Budapest_ , and you got me _shot_ , Nat. It was _not_ a good time."

She had been his informant, giving him information on an underage prostitution operation in the lower east side in exchange for immunity for her own assault charge. It killed him to even think it, but they had made a good team. He'd even say he had trusted her, right before the bullet hit his shoulder like a hammer.

"You look good, Tasha."

"I do alright," her smile wavered for a moment and she pulled a rag from under the bar to polish the counter. "How's Laura?"

Clint looked down and wished he still had the napkin to shred.

"Engaged. Called me up so I wouldn't have to hear it anywhere else."

"She's a good woman."

"That was always the problem."

Clearly seeing he was in no mood to be teased about his failed marriage, she started mixing a fresh drink. When he started to protest, she smirked.

"You want to keep your cover, don't you, Detective?"

He grudgingly accepted. Natasha Romanov made the best drinks in New York.

"I've been assigned to this case. You might have to find a new job, Nat."

"I don't think so."

"You don't? Should I be worried?" He was only half joking. Her original assault charge had left a man eating from a straw for months.

"Not in the slightest," she shook her head, that secret smile back. "Captain Fury and I have an arrangement."

Clint groaned. Of course. Of course Natasha Romanov and Captain Nick Fury still got along. Of course they'd still be in touch. No matter she got one of his best detectives shot. Water under the bridge between these two.

"I'll kill him. The least he could have done was give me a heads up."

"Relax. It's a good system. It works. But I've got drinks to make so-" She grabbed a passing waitress. "Quake? Grab Falcon and tell him he can take a break. He has a visitor."

The girl nodded and scurried off.

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Falcon?"

That smile again. He hated that smile.

"Birds of a feather and all that."

"Clint! You finally made it down here, huh?"

Clint stiffened and turned slowly at the familiar voice.

"Wilson- I oughtta wring your neck-"

"Yeah, yeah," his partner from the precinct, Detective Sam Wilson, clapped him bracingly on the back. "How bout we grab a booth first, huh? Can't have all these nice folks see you kill me, now can we?"

"Have a nice chat, boys," Natasha called as she returned to her drink orders. "And straight back to work when you're through, Sam. I'm not paying you to flirt with the Hunyak."

Sam waved a hand over his shoulder as he led the way to the back of the club. Clint fumed, but followed to a quiet table angled away from the band. Was he the last to know absolutely everything that went on in New York city? At this rate, he'd be working this case months after prohibition was repealed.

"You mind telling me exactly what sneaky Natasha Romanov _is_ paying you for?"

Sam grinned. "Don't be too mad. It's all on the level. Or- as on the level as it can be."

Clint continued to glare. "You should have told me. We're supposed to be partners, Sam."

He stopped before he said something he'd regret. About how he was the only one willing to partner with Sam Wilson. The rest of the boys had grudgingly gotten used to taking orders from Fury, but they drew the line at working as partners with a black detective. Neither of them talked about it, but Clint could tell his partner was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. And he was just good enough, even in his anger, not to drop it.

"I really am sorry, Clint."

Clint tried to keep his scowl, but the drink Natasha had mixed him was superb, and he really did want in on the operation. It wasn't so unusual or even unexpected. The general thinking in the police force was that people would find ways to get their hands on alcohol, so as long as those providing it behaved themselves in all other areas of the law, the force could turn a blind eye for the sake of keeping order.

"You don't look it, but I'll bite. Give me the info."

Sam's grin widened and he relaxed, leaning in towards the center of the table. "Okay, it's pretty straightforward. Nat and Fury play nice. He keeps the law out of the Iron Legion just so long as she don't serve anything stronger than her Russian vodka. She tips off anything she or Pepper hears on more serious action. Pep's the hostess and accountant for the joint. Not a thing goes on in here she don't hear about. The Ears. I'm here as the middle man between Fury and Nat. And I offer an extra level of security. Things go south and the trumpet player is suddenly leading a raid. Guests clear out in a hurry before anyone can tell I'm the only one with a badge."

Clint grimaced. "Trumpet?"

"Not a word. Now, you want in?"

Clint sucked his teeth. He'd long since decided he wanted to be a part of the operation, but Sam deserved to stew a little. "Yeah. Yeah, I want in."

Sam laughed in what almost sounded like relief. "Great. Then you'll need to get to know the staff." He swung his seat out to start pointing. "You know Nat already. She's the Iron Man's right hand. The doorman's the Vision. English bloke called Jarvis. More loyal than a dog. That's the Ears, Pepper." He pointed out the strawberry blond Clint had noticed earlier. "She also handles the waitresses and dancers. I don't know many of the girls. I think Romanov just picks them up off the street so they don't have to get into the rough business. They keep to themselves, mostly. But main security detail is Thor." He gestured to a blond giant of a man laughing in one corner of the room. "Not your average thug. Goes from zero to max like that. Not anybody causing trouble cause it longer than a second. Guy can smell a fight and end it with one hit. He's a good guy. A lot of fun. Norwegian, I think. Drinks like a fish and I've never seen him so much as wobble."

He angled himself towards the bandstand to start pointing out his fellow musicians. First was a clean cut blond in uniform, seated behind the drums.

"Steve Rogers. Band master. Captain during the war. He runs a tight ship. Don't let any of us drink when we're playing. But he's good. Only one to keep us all at the same tempo. The rest give him a hard time, but they adore him, really. You can't help it. He's just that nice- that good. All American boy with the baseball and apple pie. The rest of the brass are friends of his from the war. Call themselves the Howling Commandos. Guess that's the rest of us too. Me, Sif, and the twins. We're the only ones that didn't come with the captain. Sif's bull fiddle."

He pointed more stealthily to the tall dark haired beauty in a sleek silver gown, slapping away at an upright bass.

"Real lady, but don't let her fool you. Rumor has it she stabbed her last boyfriend ten times over the chicken dinner. She's alright though. So long as you treat her right, she's fun. I think she knows Thor from back in the old country. they're always jabbering away. Then vocals and piano-"

"The Russians," Clint growled, glaring at the girl as she leaned against the piano to croon at her partner in the great crime of annoyance.

_"You can tell my brother, that ain't grim, cuz if he squeals on me I'll squeal on him-"_

The blond pianist blew a lungful of smoke into her face, all while keeping his lightning rhythm.

Sam grinned at Clint's dark tone. "So you've met them. They're Hungarians, actually. Twins. Say they left because of the politics in Europe just now. They're in double jeopardy by the sounds of it."

"Double jeopardy?"

"Yeah. Wind ain't blowin too kind on the Roma or the Jews. Figured they'd cut their losses and try how the states treat them." He finished his drink in a gulp. "And that's about it. As far as the ones I deal with."

"A pretty interesting cast of characters." Clint tried to stay angry about the whole mess, but the assignment was better than he'd hoped. The drug cases were good work, but they left him more exhausted and depressed than he'd care to admit to Fury. All the addicts, half his age most the time, barely had anything left to live for, other than their vice. This case sounded much more his speed.

Sam winked. "And now you too, Hawkeye."


	3. Me and My Gin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kudos! It really keeps me excited about a fic to know people are enjoying it. :)  
> I know the last chapter was mainly just listing off everyone's place in the story, but I promise I'll try to keep things interesting!

Clint headed for Fury's office the moment he arrived at the precinct in the morning. Sam grinned at him as he passed and Clint gave him a very rude gesture. His partner just laughed and propped his feet up on their shared desk. Traitor. Fury was at his desk, reading over arrest warrants. 

"Captain-"

Fury held up a finger. Clint took the pause to close the door behind him. He planned to sulk, and he preferred the others didn't see. Fury still made him wait, even after he'd shut the door and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it on the chair. 

"What can I do for you, Barton?"

"Apology would be nice." He crossed his arms, chin up- then realized the pose was the exact one Natasha pulled when she wanted her way and hastily dropped his hands into his pockets.

Fury let out a high scoff of a laugh. "Might be waitin awhile on that one, Detective."

"Come on, Captain. I ever give you a reason to think I couldn't handle this type of thing? That I'd turn tail and run for the chief?"

"You seem upset, detective, you want a seat?"

"No I want you to be straight with me!" He planted his hands on the desk, rather harder than he'd meant to. The wound in his shoulder complained, but he ignored it. "Why'd you wait so long to bring me in on the deal with Romanov? And why didn't you warn me she was involved?"

Fury sighed and gestured again to the chair across from him, meeting Clint's gaze with his one, beady eye. Clint sat.

"I only meant for one detective to be assigned to the case. Wilson did just fine as my go between. You were doing fine on your own with that drug deal in Queens. You didn't need to be partnered up for the moment. But did he tell you about the incident a few weeks ago?"

"Incident?" Clint frowned, glancing over his shoulder to see through the widow in the door to the bullpen at his partner. Sam was working diligently, but it didn't take a sharp eye to see him glance occasionally up at the Captain's door. "No he didn't. What happened?"

Fury sighed and pulled a pair of tumblers and a bottle of gin out of one of his drawers. "There was a fight. It was... somewhat racially motivated. Security was busy elsewhere, a couple of guys started to hassle Wilson and the sax player. Said they shouldn't be playin in a band with two white women. The rest of the band tried to calm things down, but the twins got a bit hot under the collar over it. Shouted something about pigs like that bein the reason they left Europe in the first place. Well, once the thugs figured out the place had blacks, _and_ Jews it was all over. It was a full on riot in no time. Half the place ended up splinted and bandaged. Mess only ended when Romanov put a bullet in some bastard's leg." He took a weary gulp of his drink. "Place cleared out pretty quick after that."

"Goddammit," Clint took the tumbler the captain offered him and downed the gin in one gulp.

"Goddammit is right. I'm not losing one of my best detectives on such a delicate operation. Wilson's a good officer."

"You'd hate to have an investigation into what he was doing in the Iron Legion, is what you mean."

Fury was a good captain, but part of the reason he was so good was because he compartmentalized his feelings. Clint often suspected that he had a ledger detailing each detective's practical worth lined up against how much the department would have to pay their families if they were killed in the line of duty.

"I won't say it's not a concern for this kind of operation." Fury shrugged. He also had no qualms about letting everyone under his command know where his priorities lay. "But we'd better be safe than sorry. The operation should have been a two man job from the beginning. That's my mistake. I'm big enough to admit that."

Clint nodded. "Yeah. It shoulda been. I'd really appreciate it if you didn't get my partner killed, Fury. Finding a new one is no fun."

They drank in silence for a moment. Clint didn't want the conversation to shift in the direction it now had to. Or- didn't have to. But it would go that way. Because Fury was a worse traitor than Sam when it came to this particular subject.

"She looks good, doesn't she?"

There it was. Fury was giving him that look. The one that said "how long you gunna punish yourself for one failed relationship?" Clint was getting far too used to this look. 

"She always looks good, Nick." He ran a hand down his face and cleared his throat. "So what's my spot? I don't play harp or nothin."

"Place obviously needs more security." Fury allowed him to change the subject for once. He dropped a folder down on the desk between them. "Here's the details. You'll be workin with the Norwegian."

"Good."

"And Romanov."

"Aww come on, Nick-"

"She needs help behind the bar, Barton. This whole thing's a practical arrangement. You go where she needs you."

Clint scowled and left the office without another word, taking the file with him. 

"You're a good detective, Barton. And a good man."

"I guess you're all pleased with yourself, Sam." He took his place at the opposite end of their desk and flipped open his file.

"Come on, Clint. You'll love it."

"I'd love it a lot more if I didn't have to deal with Romanov."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "What is it with the two of you? Could smell history off y'all like you stepped in it."

"If it's so obvious, you can work it out yourself. You're a detective."

"Don't think you'd like what I'm detecting, partner."

Clint sighed and pushed the briefing folder away, resigned to the conversation. "And what's that?"

Sam shrugged. "Just a certain kinda history that tends to follow women as gorgeous as Romanov. And a man not so used to livin alone."

"Well, you're only the second best in the precinct."

"Sure. Just be sure whatever history you _do_ got don't distract you from your job."

"I'm not the one you need to be worryin about. Way you're talkin, I'm startin to think you have way too much fun in that joint."

Sam shrugged. "Hard not to, when you're gettin two paychecks."

Clint blinked. "How much does Romanov pay?"


	4. Runnin' Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos! They are directly responsible for me finishing this chapter in a week and bringing more speakeasy fun to you all!  
> There's a plot somewhere in here, I swear.

They drove to the club in Sam's car. Now Clint knew how his partner could afford the newest Ford roadster in bottle green. Clint had already made a list of his favorite models to look at once he started getting his second paycheck. He supposed he should focus on getting out of his crapbox apartment and into something more permanent, but sometimes a man needed to pick happiness over practicality.

"So you nervous?"

"I'm not nervous, Sam."

"I'm just sayin," Sam shrugged. "You havent done much in the way if undercover work since you got yourself shot. Wouldn't blame you if you were."

"I didn't get myself shot." Sam hadn't been his partner at the time, he had just heard bits and pieces of the story. "Romanov got me shot."

"Now we're talkin!"

Shit. Clint scowled and pulled his hat low over his face.

"Just wake me up when we get there, alright?"

It didn't take long in the light afternoon traffic. It seemed early for a nightclub, but Sam insisted this was the time he went in every day. Evidently there was much to be done in a speakeasy during the afternoon. There was a different man in the tailor's shop when they arrived, just as unassuming as the one before.

"Falcon, afternoon."

"Coulson- you back in for awhile?"

"Just for a couple shifts." He nodded to Clint. "New player?"

"Help for Thor and Romanov. Phil, this is my partner from down at the precinct, Detective Clint Barton. Clint, Phil Coulson."

They shook hands and the doorman let them down into the bar.

"What happened to the English guy?" Clint asked as they descended the stairs.

"Separate day guard. Everyone sets up together, so we need someone on the door while J's washing out olive jars."

"He from the front?" He'd noticed the man's stiff left hand, hanging useless at his side.

"Who isn't, these days?"

It was true. Nearly every officer in the precinct had seen active duty. So had most of the men in the holding cell.

The workers of the establishment were lounging around on the furniture, laughing and talking while they ate, smoked and played cards. The men were stripped down to trousers and undershirts. The women sat in their slips without a hint of abash.

"Alright, Captain?"

The band master looked up when Sam greeted him. He smiled and stuck out a hand to Clint.

"Sam- this the new bar help?"

Sam introduced them, then proceeded through the rest of the band.

"Clint, this is the captain, and his commandos. Dumdum, Gabe, Jim, James, Jacques and Falsworth."

Clint shook each hand as it was offered him. The brass seemed too bright and cheerful compared to the typical veterans he knew. Granted, he had a very small social circle. Which basically consisted of Sam and, to a lesser extent, the rest of the precinct.

"Then the lovely lady Sif-"

"Jesus-" Clint shook his hand as the pale woman released it. "Helluva grip, there, Miss."

She gave him a toothy smile as Sam grinned and went on.

"And word has it you already met the twins. Wanda, Pietro, this is my partner from the precinct, Detective Barton."

"I told you he was policeman," the pianist gave his sister a smug look from his bench. "I bet you, didn't I _Vas'tacha_?"

"And I did not take bet, did I _drágá_?" She hopped up to sit on the piano, swinging her legs off the edge. She looked as though she wasn't wearing anything at all under what appeared to be her brother's suit jacket.

"You two are gunna lose a lot more than money if you keep picking on the Hawk," Sam grinned, leaning down to kiss the singer's cheek. She scowled at the gesture but said nothing as she took a drag from her cigarette. "He's got more of a temper than you, Pietro."

"You keep kissing my sister, and you will find the rest of my temper, Detective Wilson, " but there was a loose grin on the pianists lips as he raised his eyebrows at Sam and lit a fresh cigarette.

"Any time, Maximoff."

"Alright, listen up!"

Everyone turned to show the bartender their attention. Clint did as well, though grudgingly. Like the others, Natasha wasn't dressed for the evening. She had what looked like men's trousers and a white billowing shirt. Those trousers were not meant to sit so snugly around ones waist, Clint was sure.

"Alright- a few things tonight," she started. "First, most of you have caught sight of our new worker. His name is gunna be Hawkeye while he's with us. He'll be assisting me as well as adding a bit more security after last week's incident."

There was a general low grumbling around the bar. Behind him, Clint heard the unmistakable sound of someone spitting.

"You spit on my carpet one more time, Maximoff, and I'll have you crawling round on the floor to rip it all up yourself."

"Lord, wouldn't that be a sight,"  the  serving girl with cropped brown hair and wide doe-eyes Natasha had called "Quake" the night before winked at the pianist as she wandered past in just a slip.

Pietro grinned and grabbed at her waist, but she skipped out of his reach.

"And on that note," Natasha took control of the air, speaking over the giggles of the girl and her friends. "I said before I want all of you looking out for each other. We've all been reaching out, listening to see if there might be some retaliation for the fight. Gabe, Falcon, and you twins especially. I don't want any of you walking home alone. Keep an eye on each other, all of you."

"We're fine in our own neighborhoods," the sax player assured, arms crossed as he sat back in one of the chairs set up for the band.

"True, but you're walking through everyone else's just to get there. Just play it safe, for awhile. I don't want anyone having trouble because of having a job here."

There was a small murmur of ascent to her orders.

"Excellent. Now, just a few housekeeping matters."

Clint leaned into mutter to Sam as she continued on about new music and the dancers sharing makeup.

"This is uncomfortably like briefings back at the precinct, isn't it?"

Sam laughed. "You'd be surprised I'll bet. Woman runs a tight ship. Just like the captain."

"Other than that I want this place spotless before doors open. I'll give you thirty when it's time to get dressed. Now get to work. Hawkeye- with me."

Clint sighed and gave Sam a look before crossing to the bar.

"Meet everyone?"

"Not security or the dancers yet," he tried to act as though they had never met. He doubted she would let him do this for long. "Just the band so far."

"I'll introduce you to security in awhile. For now, let's see where you are with mixed drinks."

Clint scowled. "I can mix a drink."

Evidently, not to Natasha Romanov's standards. She made him pour out three Manhattans before she was satisfied and allowed him to move on. The rest of the bar swam with activity. Everyone was scrubbing, sweeping, mopping and polishing every available surface of the establishment. After what seemed like hours, Natasha hit the bar hard enough to cover the chatter and noises of cleaning.

"Half hour, boys and girls. Get pretty!"

The bar fell into even further chaos. The men gathered around a rack of suit jackets, the ones nearest calling out the names written inside and tossing them over heads to their owner. The women all scurried around, pulling dresses and accessories from increasingly improbable places and shimmying into them. Most of the workers stripped down to their underwear, seeming not to care if anyone saw them change. Once at least partially dressed, the girls lined up behind the bar to make use of the mirror there. They passed what looked like one or two tubes of lipstick and mascara between them all. They pulled curlers out of hair, drew on eyebrows and dashed powder over the lot in what seemed to be less than five minutes.

"Thor- over here."

"Jesus-" Clint muttered as he caught sight of the main security detail. The behemoth approaching was twice Clint's size.

"Hawkeye!" The man's voice was just as huge as his physical form. "It is so good to meet you after everything our Falcon has told us about you."

"Uh- nice to meet you too, pal." Clint winced as the man shook his hand. His grip could crack bone if he tried.

"I am Thor Odinson. Security here at the Iron Legion. You are most welcome here."

"Thanks."

"Just keep an eye on Thor between drinks, alright?" Natasha had barely left his side, it seemed, but was now back, dressed for the evening in a long emerald gown. "He gives you so much as a nod, drop what you're doing and get over there to help with whatever slick needs a kick out of the door."

Clint nodded while the man called Thor beamed.

"You will carry every night you work here. This is non-negotiable." Natasha added when he opened his mouth. "If you're not armed tonight, you can borrow one of mine."

Clint scowled. As if he would come to a club without his side arm. He still didn't like her telling him to be armed though. This did not bode well for their professional arrangement.


	5. Let's Misbehave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still slowly picking away at this one! I've taken on far too many projects again and really need to focus on finishing some before I go off starting new ones.  
> Thank you for all your kudos and comments!

He had expected the patrons of the club to trickle in, so early in the night. But it seemed the moment the door opened, the basement was just as crowded as it had been at midnight the night before. And they all wanted drinks at the same time.

"I need three Heartbreakers! No- Eight!"

"And one Whiskey Sour, two Gin and Tonics and a glass of Chardonnay."

"You handle wines, rocks, and beers," Natasha snapped, furiously mixing the more complicated drinks. "Waitresses get the cash. Don't worry any about that. Just make your drinks and keep the peace."

Clint didn't respond to her or anyone else, pouring and passing glasses as fast as he possibly could. Even so, Natasha still snapped at him, demanding he move faster.

"TEN Patriots! TEN!"

"Ears- you got a minute?"

"Never. What do you need?"

"Three beers and a tonic!"

"I need three Heartbreakers! Now!"

"Wine! Just- a lot of wine!"

"Promethean!"

"Centurion!"

"Bleeding Edge!"

"And now welcome to the stage our favorite sultry spell caster, the Scarlet Witch!"

"Patriots! I need those Patriots!"

"Hawkeye! You're slow!"

Clint wished the music wasn't so loud- or so fast. He was sure the patrons would not demand their drinks so quickly if the band were playing a nice tame waltz. No such luck. The band was at top speed, playing a cheerful and cheeky little number he'd never heard before.

_"There's something wild about you, child_

_That's so contagious_

_Let's be outrageous!_

_Let's misbehave!"_

He could barely hear the drink orders under the singer's sly tone and the blaring brass. Clint rubbed his left ear furiously- his right functioned almost as well as it did before the trenches, but the left still tuned in and out like a radio.

"Wild night, isn't it?" One of the dancers, a pale young woman with a soft figure and long black hair, dropped into an empty stool. "My feet are aching and more of me's been pinched than hasn't! Can I get a Sidecar?"

"Uh-"

"If the men are giving you trouble, Darcy, point them out to Thor." Natasha was somehow able to mix two drinks at once while keeping up a conversation.

The dancer winked as she took the drink the other woman passed her. "Who says they pinched first?"

Natasha waved a hand at her. "Ten minutes, Darce. Ten. Then, you're back to hoofin it."

The dancer waved a hand, then, once Natasha had made her way to the other end of the bar, leaned in conspiratorially.

"So- You. The Widow. History. I want all the dirty details and I've only got nine minutes, so spill."

Clint scowled as he poured out an ale. "You've been talking to Wilson, haven't you?"

"No. But it's good to know I'm not the only one picking up on your _heavy_ pheromones."

Clint grimaced and passed the waitress named Quake the collection of drinks she needed to bring to the other side of the club. Did no one have anything better to do than make accusations about him and Romanov?

"We know each other from a case I worked awhile back. That's it."

"Uh-huh. Well, the two of you have got the kind of hate for each other that you only get for someone you've necked and kind of regret it, but also kinda want to do a bit more."

" _Who_ are you again?"

"A genius. Who's break is almost up." She raised her eyebrows. "But seriously? Make up with the boss woman. Partially because it would make her happy, and partially because I've got money on it with Thor."

Clint blinked at her. "You are the most-"

"Hawkeye! Now means now on that whiskey!"

Clint rushed to finish the order, and by the time he was finished, the dancer was gone. He shook his head and went back to work. It was stupid, it was nothing. No one understood what they were talking about. As if they could take one look at the thing from the outside and sort out every little complication that made it so-

"Hawkeye! Thor needs you! _Now_!"

Clint jumped nearly a foot in the air. He'd forgotten completely about the other part of his job. The club was far too loud to hear a change in the level of noise, even if his hearing was fully functional. But once he looked, it was clear where the problem was. Clint found an empty place at the other side of the bar and vaulted over, his instincts kicking in. He ignored the shouts and gasps of those around him and pushed his way through the crowd to the knot of activity in the back of the club.

"Hey- I ain't causin any trouble-"

"I have asked you several times, sir-" Thor had the man by the back of the neck, his toes skimming the carpet. Clint had to admit, he was impressed that the man did not seem in the slightest bit cowed. "To take your wares elsewhere. No one here is interested in such illicit materials."

Clint was less concerned with what Thor was accusing the man of and more concerned with the other guest, who stood behind the security man with a small knife in his palm.

"Hey- Norwegian!" He fought his way closer, but the armed man was still several bodies away from him. "You got a blade at 5 o'clock!"

Clint's heart sank. He'd taken a gamble in shouting and lost. The man with the knife reacted quicker than the blond giant to the call. Spurred on now that he knew someone else would be joining the confrontation, the knife man lunged. Clint barreled his way through the last wall of people and towards the ensuing fray.

To his surprise, the behemoth security man whipped around, dropping the first man just in time. His huge shovel-like hand cracked down on the man's wrist, the other flying out in a fist towards his nose. The resulting crack was audible even to Clint.

It was like the punch set off an explosion. People screamed. Nearly everyone in the area whipped around in a huge wave. It was too loud for anyone in other areas of the club to take much notice, but the whole corner of tables was a whirling mess within seconds. Women ran, men shoved, and then the fists started to fly.

Clint caught a man wielding a heavy crystal glass and twisted his arm around his back.

"You're gunna leave, aren't you pal?" He growled out, trying to balance the need to incapacitate the man with the desire to keep track of all the other scuffles around him.

The man snarled at him and Clint twisted his arm harder.

"Alright! Alright! I'll go!"

Clint looked up, feeling like he should probably secure the whole situation before leaving.

"Hawkeye!" Thor beamed at him, holding no less than four men by their collars, all battered and barely conscious. "Do you require assistance?"

"Uh- no, buddy. I'm all good. You?"

"Fine! Fine! Let us show these gentlemen the door, shall we?"

Clint couldn't help but laugh. "Sure thing!"

The rest of the night was fairly uneventful. As much as a haze of frenzied activity can be uneventful. Clint's feet were aching before midnight. The demand for drinks didn't lighten up for hours. Then, miraculously, sometime around 2am, the crowd began to thin. Things dropped down to a pace Clint could actually handle, and half the waitresses turned from running orders to wiping down tables.

"Well, you lived," Natasha poured out a glass of rum and, to Clint's surprise, took a sip as she leaned against the bar. "Good work, Hawkeye."

Suspicious of the compliment, Clint nodded curtly. "Thanks."

"You jumped to when things got hairy for Thor too. Thank you for that."

"Careful now, Romanov. I think that was two compliments in a row."

"I play nice. Don't know why you seem to think I don't." She wasn't looking at him, and Clint was grateful for the freedom not to make eye contact.

"Yeah, well, bullet took awhile to dig out."

This actually made her smile. "Still sore over that?"

"In more ways than one." It wasn't funny. He was still genuinely angry about the whole mess. But her smile was so infectious he found his lip twitching. It was an annoying quality of hers- that she could make his face react in ways he did not want it to. "I never got an apology for that, by the way."

"You didn't? Well then, why don't you go down to the jailhouse and have a word with the thug?" But when he scowled, she held up a hand. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry. I honestly didn't know it was going to go that way. I would have warned you if I did, I swear. That's the God's honest truth."

Clint eyed her skeptically, not wanting to admit that he still trusted her enough to believe her words.

"Well, apology accepted anyway."

She was pressing her lips together and still not looking at him. She seemed to have forgotten about the half-empty glass of rum in her hand.

"Listen, Clint, I've really wanted to tell you-"

But she was cut off by the unmistakable sound of a fist breaking a nose.


	6. I'm Through with Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support! I promise there's a plot in here somewhere.  
> Also I should probably mention my only knowledge of police lingo/culture comes from Brooklyn NineNine and Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries. Between the two, I'm probably getting a lot very right and a lot very wrong.

"Get off of me! Let me-"

"Crazy foreign-"

"Hey! Break it up!" The knot of scuffling bodies froze and most heads lifted at Natasha's shout. "Guests out. Now! Thor- Hawkeye- see everyone to the door."

Clint barely registered that she was talking to him, still unused to the nickname used around guests to protect his identity. The scuffled seemed to be centered around a slick, tipsy guest in a pressed suit and the piano player, though the entire band had gotten involved in separating them. The slender bass player had an arm around the stranger's throat, and two of the brass players were holding Pietro back while his sister shouted at him in rapid Hungarian.

"Clint! Move it!"

He jumped at Natasha's voice and scrambled to help Thor drag the guest out the back door.

"And ne'er return!" The Norwegian boomed as the man swore and stumbled against a dumpster in the back alley. "It was not his fault," he said more quietly to Clint as they went back inside. "Mostly, it is our staff who hits first."

"Why doesn't Romanov put a stop to it?" It seemed like a no brainer. It must be hard to keep discreet when people left your establishment bloody and bruised every night.

Thor shrugged. "The Black Widow would rather surround herself with people she can trust than people who behave themselves."

This made no sense, but Clint didn't argue. He didn't understand Romanov, and he certainly wasn't about to any time soon.

Back inside, the rest of the guests had cleared out, but the commotion hadn't died in the slightest.

"You can't just go around hitting every idiot in New York-"

"I won't sit and listen to fascist bullshi-"

"Enough!"

The crowd of employees quieted at the bartender's shout.

"I don't really care what happened this time" Natasha was standing with her arms crossed, chin lifted high. "All of you clear out your things for the night. You may be getting a call before we open tomorrow, so stick around near the horn. And you-" she rounded on the pianist, who had shrugged off the musicians holding him back and now scowled at the floor, avoiding Natasha's eyes- "I have good ears, Maximoff. I heard more than one crack. Let's see that hand."

"I am fine!" He snapped, pulling his right hand away from her outstretched palm and backing up. No one was fooled. The appendage in question was already swelling and shook violently when Pietro tried to make a fist at his side. Wanda spat something that sounded very rude.

Natasha sighed heavily and grabbed a pen and napkin from a nearby table.

"This doctor doesn't make a fuss." She snapped her fingers at one of the waitresses until she gave her a wad of cash from her apron pocket. "He takes cash and won't ask questions. Come back first thing tomorrow and tell me what he says-" when Wanda reached for the cash, she pulled it back- "I will know if you lie. Both of you."

They both scowled, but Wanda took the money and they left.

Clint turned to Sam to ask what had happened, but he was watching the twins go, a tight frown on his face.

"What-"

"I'm gunna have a word with those two." He looked like he was gritting his teeth. "See ya tomorrow, Barton."

"Sam-"

But he was already catching up to the other two. Clint shook his head, perplexed. Wanda may be pretty, but she was surely in no mood for Sam to butt into the situation. Sam usually had more sense than this.

Natasha watched the three of them go and shook her head, then returned to the bar and her glass of rum. Clint followed her, eyebrows raised.

"Not a word, Barton."

He shook his head. "Just seems like if the guy can't behave himself-"

"I want you in tomorrow at noon."

Clint blinked at her, then scowled. "Noon? What for-"

"We have a lead on something I need to follow up on before Fury can mount anything official. Just let him know you're meeting me and he'll let you go. Wilson can come if he likes just to find out what we're going to do about the band tomorrow night."

She strode off before he could even open his mouth. Clint shoved a nearby chair in harder than he really needed to.

~

Sam looked like he hadn't slept at all the next morning. Usually, Clint was the one resting his head on the desk, only lifting it to take great gulps of black coffee, but Sam looked ashen and more than a little disheveled.

"Rough night?"

"Huh?" Sam barely seemed to notice him as he sat on the other side of the desk. "Yeah- I guess."

"Did you have it out with Maximoff too?"

"What?" Sam blinked at him like he was speaking another language. "What do you mean?"

"You went after the two of them last night," Clint shrugged. "Just thought maybe the guy's sick of you flirtin with his sister."

Sam didn't seem like he was listening, his scowl was more general and his gaze far off.

"None of his goddamn business..."

Clint frowned at him. Sam was a bit of a flirt, but the Legion's singer didn't seem too receptive to his attentions. It wasn't like Sam to pursue a woman past his welcome.

"Maybe you should let up. Wanda doesn't seem interested."

"What did the Widow want with you?"

Clint was about to protest the change in subject, but he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"She wants us to check in with Fury, then for me to meet her back at the Legion around noon."

"What does she want with you during the day?" At last it seemed Sam was paying attention to the conversation at hand.

"No idea. Her tellin me what she was thinkin would be too easy. Then I might know what we're doin."

Sam was giving him another one of those knowing looks.

"What? What are you lookin at me like that for?"

Sam pressed his lips together and rubbed his jaw a moment.

"Did you and the boss ever step out together when you worked that job where you got shot?"

Clint scowled and dragged a stack of arrest warrants toward himself.

"I was married when I first met Romanov, Sam."

His partner help up his palms. "Never mind. Just thought-"

"You thought wrong." He abandoned the paperwork without even starting to read it and jerked his head at Fury's office door. "Come on. We're supposed to report to the Captain before I go."

It was a shameless excuse to change the subject, but Sam followed him anyway. Fury called them in the moment he knocked and didn't look surprised to see them both.

"Gentlemen- come in. Close the door."

Sam obeyed while Clint crossed his arms, not sure he wanted to hear what was coming. Whatever Fury and Romanov were up to, it probably meant his life was about to get even more complicated.

"How was your first night at the Legion, Barton?"

Clint shrugged and planted his feet. "Quiet as the grave, Captain."

"Hear there was a dope pusher and two fights."

Both Sam and Clint shrugged this time. Fury looked them over sternly with his one eye.

"You sleep alright, Wilson?"

Clint stared. He didn't think he could remember a single instance where the Captain had asked about anyone's wellbeing.

"I'll make it. Clint's going back to the Legion at noon. I'd like to join him."

"Just so long as you finish the report and descriptions of perpetrators at last night's incidents first. I want as much info on that dope dealer as possible, so hop to. And I'm puttin Barton on duty keepin an eye on you. You start flirtin with that damn Hunyak and you're off the clock."

Sam didn't seem to find this as funny as when Natasha teased him about it two nights before. His "yes, sir" was far stiffer than usual and the door snapped shut behind him.

Clint raised his eyebrows, perplexed. Sam didn't have a temper. Or rather, he did, he just knew how to channel it into tracking down dope dealers and wife beaters.

"What was-"

"Romanov's got a lead," Fury shuffled his papers without any indication he'd noticed that Sam was acting out of character. "Or- more like the Ears has got a lead and its passed its way down to us. You and Romanov are going to be doing some undercover work." He held up a hand to stop any protests. "Let's skip all the 'do I have to's. Yes, you do. It's not always about who you get along with, Barton, believe it or not. It's about doin the job."

Clint scowled. "You got any more information for me than that?"

"Just that you'll be looking into some drugs circulating that side of town. They've had more and more dealers finding their way into the Legion. It's either someone new or someone expanding their operation into the precinct. Either way, we're shutting them down before things get out of hand."

Clint nodded, but he could feel a headache coming on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did Natasha want to tell Clint last night?  
> Why is it so necessary they work an undercover case together?  
> What does Pietro keep getting into fights over?  
> And what is eating Sam?  
> More next week (hopefully) on our top program: Easy Speaking Medley!


	7. A Man of My Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support! This fic is shameless good fun to write and I really appreciate knowing all of you are having fun with me!

There were already plenty of people in the club by the time they arrived at noon. It looked like half the band was already sitting around, talking amongst themselves. Natasha was just coming out of the stockroom when Clint came down the stairs. The band's chatter died down as she approached. He stayed where he was, but Sam wandered over to the drummer's side, muttering quietly to him before they both turned at near military attention.

"What did the doctor say?" Natasha crossed her arms as she stared down the pianist.

"I will be fine to work-"

"What did he say, Maximoff?"

Pietro scowled, his mouth clamped tight.

"Three broken fingers," Wanda spat out, looking furious. "One hit and now he cannot work! How are we-"

"I can still play!"

"You're gunna make it worse if-" Sam started, but Pietro rounded on him, looking even more furious, if that was possible.

"I do not need your opinion, Detective Wilson!"

Sam looked about to start shouting right back, but Natasha lifted both of her palms.

"Enough! Wilson- go back to your day job. We won't need you tonight."

Sam scowled, but obeyed with one last furious look at the twins. Wanda muttered something exasperated as he mounted the stairs to the street level of the building.

"Now- Wanda, you are of course welcome to keep singing while Pietro-"

"We need-"

"While Pietro takes a leave of absence," she spoke over his protests. "We'll find a temporary replacement-" the twins both made skeptical "tsk!" noises- "-and you can return when a doctor says the bones are fully healed. If you need a lone to make rent, I will give it to you." Again, she held up her hands to stay any protests. "Let's skip the part where you parade your pride around and refuse handouts, alright? It's a loan that I expect to be paid back in full, plus interest." She counted out large bills from the safe behind the bar and shuffled them into an envelope. "We'll work out the particulars later- don't think I'll forget."

Pietro took the money, but still looked sulky and suspicious.

"Who will play in my place?"

"I will not sing with someone who learned on Catholic hymns!" Wanda snapped, her arms crossed tightly.

"We will find someone," Natasha assured her. "Don't worry."

"We know a player, don't we boys?" Dum Dum, the trombone player, piped up helpfully. "We could call-"

"No-" the drummer interrupted, looking a little frantic. "We don't have to bother her- no. We'll call around. Find someone else."

Natasha looked harassed with all the chatter flying around. Everyone seemed to know the name of someone who could fill in, but someone else knew that they had joined a temperance movement or started a family or been thrown in jail.

"The Vision will fill in tomorrow," she finally announced. "There's too much to arrange before tonight. Spread the word to anyone you can. We close for one night."

The band didn't look too happy with this announcement. Wanda looked just as furious as her twin and they both strode off without another word.

Clint watched this all, but didn't interrupt. He watched as Natasha pulled the trombone player aside, away from Rogers.

"Call your pianist. J is fine to fill in for a night or two, but we need someone with a bit more fire to keep them dancing."

Dum Dum nodded and glanced at the drummer, who was busy polishing his high-hat. Natasha stifled a groan and rolled her eyes when she noticed.

"And if all of you can't keep your personal issues quiet until after hours, I will burn this place to the ground, so help me. Off you go."

The band trickled out, leaving Natasha and Clint alone in the basement club. It seemed like a lot bigger space with only two people in it. More echoed.

"So a quiet night for all?"

"Not for the two of us," she gave him a raised eyebrow. "We've got plenty of mischief to get up to."

"That a fact?"

He shouldn't be rising to the challenge by meeting her, stare for stare. He shouldn't. But he was. And he could feel his traitorous lip twitch to match her smirk.

"It is," she broke his gaze to stride across the room to the rack of clothes in the corner. "Do you think Jacques or Falsworth is closer to my height?"

Clint's mind was elsewhere and he had to mentally shake himself before answering. "What?"

"I think Jacques," she hummed absently as she dug through the men's clothes. "Not sure the hips will be wide enough though. And don't we have any slender-shouldered men in this place? These shirts are enormous."

"You've finally lost it." He watched, bemused and too experience with this sort of thing from her to even ask what she was doing, as she held each pair of trousers up to his body and swished around to see how much they would drag on the floor if she wore them.

"I think I'll try Quicksilver's shirt and jacket. He has the trimmest waist and it's not as though he'll be using it any time soon with that hand."

"And why are you stealing the band's clothes-"

Any question of her actions or protests died in his throat, as, with the flick of a few buttons, she shimmied out of her day dress.

"Now... where in all this can I find a belt?"

Clint turned around before he could see any more of her lace lingerie that was far too near in color to her own skin, for his tastes.

"How the hell would I know? And can you not _do_ that?"

"Please. You've seen what this place is like every evening. Don't be such a stiff."

"It's different with a bunch of people, Nat. Just the two of us and it's..."

"Too intimate?"

Clint tried to scowl at the back wall. "Come on, Romanov."

"Oh hush. I'm decent."

Clint still glanced skeptically over his shoulder before turning around. He wouldn't put it past her to strip down even further as a joke to catch him off guard. But she was dressed. By some standard or another.

"Oh damn. Opposite buttons." She made a great show of pouting down at the fastenings of the shirt she had pilfered from the rack. "Not used to doing them from _this_ side of things."

"Are you going to tell me what you're doing?"

"I am getting properly dressed for our night out, Detective."

Clint looked around the club rather than watch her tuck the tails of the overlong shirt into the trousers.

"You care to tell me where we're goin?"

"We are to have a _lovely_ night out together at the Raven." She was now standing at the mirror behind the bar, pinning her curls tightly against her head.

"Never been."

"No, I wouldn't think you had. But don't worry. I am an excellent guide. And it's a wonderful little club. We'll have a great time, I'm sure."

"I'm sure."

In what seemed like no time at all, she had somehow managed to reshape her entire face with a little bit of eyebrow pencil and blush. Clint stared at her. Her round, soft features were hardened and squared out with artful, near invisible shading.

"So, what do you think?"

"I think you're missing a tie and a hat, sir."

She gave him the worst of her sly smiles and dug around the pockets of her suit jacket before pulling out a faded blue tie. Without conferring for a moment, Clint took it from her and smoothed it out before dropping it around the back of her neck and beginning to tie it. She craned her neck to keep her chin out of the way, but made the effort to keep looking at him. Clint kept his concentration on the tie, but could feel how strongly she held onto his eyes. She thought she was the only one who could tease, but he was making a special effort to tie the piece of silk around her neck as slowly as possible- and take absolutely no notice of how close they were standing.

"There." He finally matched her eye contact while he laid the tie flat and smoothed out her shoulders. "Think you'll do."

"Good. I was worried I wouldn't come up to your standards." She reached up and took his hat, setting the wilted felt fedora on her own head at an almost comically jaunty angle. "Perfect now, right?"

"Just about."

He thought she was leaning in, but she only dropped her gaze and lifted her hands to his own tie and shirt.

"Can't have you making me look bad," she gave him one last smirk before turning for the stairs. "Come along, Detective. We have work to do."

The spell was broken the second they stepped out onto the street. Clint couldn't stop looking over his shoulder. He was sure someone he knew was about to see. See and understand that he was stepping down the street with a bootlegging Russian woman in drag. For one wild moment, he thought of Laura and swallowed.

"You're awfully quiet, Detective."

"Am I? Hadn't noticed. Too busy thinkin of what horrors you got in store for me tonight."

"Oh please." She rolled her eyes and something about the expression was in such feminine contradiction to her appearance, he almost smiled. "Don't I keep telling you? We're going to have a wonderful time. And if we happen to pick up any leads on who is sending foot soldiers into the Legion, all the better."

Clint nodded. No more or less than what Fury had told him, but it was nice to hear information from her for once.

"Do you remember that night at the Dame?"

Clint felt his lips twitch despite himself.

"Of course."

It was early on the case when they'd met. Clint had met her at the club to try to make contact with one of the girls trapped in the rough business. They found one early on, and had all but ushered her out where they could get her into police protection, when they had been forced to stay to keep their cover. Two hours and more than a few drinks later and the poor girl had been the one to try to keep a cool head and drag them out of there when they were made.

"What ever happened to that girl?" She asked, staring fondly off into the distance at the memory. "Kate- wasn't it?"

"Bishop, yeah. She sent a letter a few months after she aged out of care. Believe it or not, she's entering the academy."

"The police academy?" Her eyebrows- thickened with pencil- shot up. "And I thought she was such a _nice_ girl..."

"Well, you can't corrupt them all."

"I suppose not."

She was pressing her lips together, and the expression reminded him of something.

"Nat- last night, right before closing, you were about to tell me someth-"

"And here we are."

Clint scowled. She had done that on purpose.

He was fairly certain that he'd never been to this street. Everyone around them seemed as merry as if it were a holiday, not a Tuesday night. Granted, that's how the Legion felt as well, but there was an extra air of giddiness here that he couldn't quite place.

"What is this place?"

"It's a dance hall, Detective. Haven't you ever seen one before?"

"I know you way too good to think this is a regular dance club. There's something-" He blinked as he was very nearly bowled over by a woman in a sparkling silver frock who was nearly twice his size.

In a moment, everything clicked together.

"Oh. It's _that_ kind of club."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's Natasha playing at this time?  
> Will the twins ever NOT be angry?  
> Who is Dum Dum supposed to call to play with the band?  
> Will Clint every get satisfactory answer out of anyone?  
> Tune in next week for more easy speaking!


	8. BD Woman's Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow on updates again, but still working!  
> Thank you for all of your support! It really makes my day to know people are enjoying my stories.

The Raven was more spacious than Clint had expected. He'd thought of places like this as small and secretive, but this club was huge. The clothes seemed more colorful- or at least cleaner than the typical late night drinking crowd.

"Their band is bigger."

"Mmm," Natasha nodded as they squeezed their way through the crowd. "I suppose when you have a stage with a pit, it's your obligation to fill it."

"They got a chandelier too."

"Probably came with the space. Must be a nightmare to clean."

"But the whole place _does_ look _cleaner_."

"Alright, _Hawkeye_." She was trying to scowl, but she clearly enjoyed the teasing over the complaining. "Remember what we're here for."

"Socializing? Or are we being honest and calling it intel gathering?"

"Your choice," she supplied cheerfully.

She might have said more, but someone had started shouting from the crowd.

"Mr. Rushman!" A curly haired individual in a shiny red dress floated over to them and kissed Natasha on both cheeks. "So wonderful to see you again, my dear!"

"Of course, I had to come back to see my best girl." Natasha kissed back and played boldly with the strangers hair. "How is business?"

"Wonderful, horrible- as always."

"Are you on stage tonight?"

"No. We have some BDs with day jobs."

Clint felt like he had been left in the dust for the entirety of the brief conversation. He understood most of what they were saying, but it was as if he was too dazed by the whole environment to really register anything at all. They made their way to a curtained booth in the back without conferring on their destination. Clint felt his eyes were still adjusting to the dim lighting. Everything had a fuzzy sort of glow like a romance flicker. It did not help that Natasha looked so herself and so not herself.

"You're looking a little dumbstruck, Hawkeye." The teasing was back in her voice. "Are you really so straight-laced?"

He'd almost forgotten about all the other people around them and their unconventional appearances. He was still busy processing the way Natasha had shifted her whole demeanor to fit with her appearance. He couldn't stop staring and trying to work out how exactly her gait had changed. He was somewhat disconcerted that such a beautiful woman made such a convincing man.

"They seem to know you here."

She gave him a smile that said she had a notion of what he was thinking.

"They needed a comedy act filled awhile ago. I owed someone a favor for waitressing a few months back. I ended up being Mr. Nathan for a night."

He suppressed a bemused laugh. "Now _that_ I'd pay to see."

"It was a popular show. And now I'm always welcome here." She paused to greet more admirers before sliding into the cushioned booth. "You're getting a few once-overs yourself, Hawkeye."

"Maybe from _you_."

He hadn't been thinking. He'd responded to the teasing as though it had been something innocuous and stupid between him and Sam. Thankfully, she didn't jump on the accidental flirtation. Not too hard, anyway.

"I resent the implication that once-overs from me somehow don't count."

Clint grinned at her before reminding himself he shouldn't. That he shouldn't smile at Natasha Romanov at all. Even if they were alone. And even if she was dressed as herself. Because he didn't want to encourage her when she flirted like that. Not really. But she was able to make him do things he really didn't want to. That was the problem.

Thankfully, he was saved from thinking of anything to say by the lights dimming. Everyone's attention turned to the stage as a piano rolled out and a tall woman dressed much like Natasha sat at the bench.

"Good evening, Ravens," she had a smooth English accent. Like Jarvis at the Legion, she sounded far too high-end to be found anywhere so scandalous. "Is everyone doing alright tonight?"

The crowd cheered and whistled. The woman smiled and began to play. As she did, a second woman swept out onto the stage, her powder blue gown fluttering around her.

_"B.D. women, you sure can't understand_  
B.D. women, you sure can't understand  
They got a head like a sweet angel and they walk just like a natural man."

"So... wild place, huh?" Clint was trying to sound as though he wasn't really shocked by all the cross-dressing and odd couples necking in the open, but he knew other people would be. Like he was far too experienced with life to really bother reacting to all of this. He didn't know why he bothered. She could read him far too easily.

"Sometimes I think it's quieter here than at the Legion." When he raised his eyebrows, she grinned. "Different kind of quiet is still quiet, Clint."

"True, I guess." Different kind of Natasha was still Natasha too- even in a suit. Even raising one thickened eyebrow at him like she was lying in wait of something.

"You have any idea what we're lookin for?"

Her look said that was not what she had been waiting for. She sighed and swiveled herself on the booth to face out towards the dance floor.

"Maybe. I don't want to wander around with a cop following me. You stay here."

"What-" he tried to follow her as she got up. "What do you need me here for if-"

"You're here to look pretty and reel them in once I've hooked them."

She shot him a wink as she slipped out onto the dance floor. Clint shook his head and signaled to a passing waiter. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it with a stiff drink in his hand.

It felt like she was gone for hours. Clint had downed three or four drinks before he even spotted her in the crowd again. He wasn't sure how many, since the stage show was very distracting. The women pulled off a very saucy and entertaining musical comedy act. It only got him wondering what Natasha's act had been like. Which only made him drink more.

After a few numbers, the women took their bows and left the stage. More people filtered out onto the dance floor once the band picked up in the pit and there was nothing to sit and watch. Clint was just starting to wonder if Natasha had left him there as some kind of lame prank when her voice was back ringing in his ears.

"There- right where I left him."

He was maybe a little drunker than he planned to be. He stared probably too intently at the three women approaching his booth. Natasha was leading the two stage performers, and the three of them looked far too genial for his tastes.

"Hawkeye, sir. I would like you to meet Captain America and Miss Broadway."

"Peggy-" the woman in the blue suit and red hat stuck out a firm hand. "No need for stage names. I trust friends of Nat."

"Not sure that's such a good idea," he congratulated himself for being clever and charming as he shook her hand, even though the floor kept tilting. "I don't even trust Nat's friends."

"Probably wise. Angie, darling." The woman in the dress shook his hand lighter and faster than her counterpart.

"Either way," Peggy stood back gallantly to allow her companion to slide into the corner booth first. "It seems the two of you are both here on business. Nat's already tried to poach me."

"It's not poaching if you're on a rotation with other players anyway-"

"What are you drinking?" Angie leaned in to peer into Clint's glass. "Looks good."

"Uh-" Clint was starting to feel very slow and inarticulate. "Side-sidecar."

"Oh- damn- I knew that, didn't I- Waiter!"

"It would just be a few weeks- three tops. Just until our regular player's hand heals up."

"I'm not sold, Nat- I'm not."

"Oh well," Natasha sighed as she took a round of drinks from the waiter. "I will wear you down before the night is over, mark my words. I think you know most of the band anyway. Might be fun to catch up."

Clint wasn't too drunk to notice the enticing tone of Natasha's voice and her delicate, would-be-casual expression. Peggy wasn't fooled either.

"Oh, I know. I know who plays at the Legion. And I think I'm just fine playing here with my best girl." She leaned over and kissed Angie's cheek to a girlish giggle of appreciation. "You can tell Steve-"

"I'm not passing messages back and forth like a schoolgirl, Peg, you can tell him whatever it is yourself."

"Either way-"

"Forget it," Natasha waved a hand and steered the conversation in the direction they had come for. "What we really want to hear about is pushers."

The tone of the conversation changed in a moment. Instead of grinning and joking, both Peggy and Angie were now looking at Natasha with clear reproach.

"Asking your dirtier friends about true trouble, huh?" Though small, Angie seemed to have Thor-sized aggression when provoked. She was actually leaning in like she might lunge across the table at Natasha.

"Ang-"

"No- they come in here and think if _anyone_ knows about dope, it _must_ be _us_ -"

"Ladies, _please_ -" Natasha held up her palms as a sign of peace. "I am asking out of community concern. We have been having more and more incidents down at the Legion. Clint has been hired on to help with the situation."

Again, the women's demeanor changed instantly. This time, to one of concern.

"What happened to the Falcon?"

"He's quite alright," Natasha assured them. Clint wanted to ask the two women how they knew Sam, but the conversation was moving far too fast and his tongue felt too heavy to form the question. "Clint's just extra help. Point is, we're thinking there's a new player in this part of the city, and it's made us all at the Legion _very_ nervous."

Peggy nodded. "I have heard management talking. It's getting bad, by the sound of things."

"Any chance you could keep an eye and an ear out?"

"Sure. But now you owe me, Nat. And you're going to owe me even more when I come to play for you until your regular guy heals up."

Natasha smiled that knowing smile- like she hadn't been worried about convincing Peggy at all. She finished her drink and hooked her arm in Clint's before he could protest.

"I can always count on you, Cap."


	9. If I Didn't Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again! Kind of a short chapter, but I feel like i'm in a weird transition point in this story before the real plot kicks in.  
> Thank you for your support!

The next night did not bode well from the beginning. Jarvis looked as though he had not slept at all and instead had spent the night and day rehearsing all the pieces he was expected to play. He looked harassed and anxious, and Wanda was not helping in the slightest.

"You are too slow!" She snapped for what Clint was sure was the thousandth time. "It is not funeral! People are meant to _dance_ to this! Not _cry_!"

The waitstaff and dancers were all trying to ignore the shouting, but it only made it more uncomfortable to have a silent bar staring at the glasses and floors they were cleaning without looking up for an instant.

" _Wanda_ -" Steve was trying to calm her while taking over the instructions for the group at the same time. "Lay off him, alright? We're in this together. If we can't get along with each other-"

"No, I'm sorry, Captain Rogers. I will try to keep up."

"You're doing just _fine_ , J."

"He is _not_! And I will not continue until he can get it right!"

Wanda stormed off to the lady's room, fumbling for her cigarette case stuffed down the neck of her dress. The band all watched her go, wincing as the bathroom door slammed. Clint raised his eyebrows at Sam, but his partner pretended not to see. Frowning, Clint turned to Natasha next.

"Don't look at _me_. Personally, I think we should gag them all to avoid this kind of scene, but the boss says that's not the kind of club we run."

"If they can't just do their jobs without-"

"They're still the best players we could ever hope to have. I won't replace a single one for anything."

Clint shook his head. He was having a hard enough time without all the chaos. They hadn't left the Raven until two in the morning, and Fury still expected him in the office at ten. He felt in a complete fog, and the tension radiating from the entire band was not helping things.

Miraculously though, the singer returned, and they held together long enough for the doors to open at the regular time. Clint was sure that the patrons, having been denied access to the Legion the night before, were twice as demanding to make up for the lost hours of drinking.

"Twelve Heartbreakers!"

"Six beers!"

"A Bleeding Edge, three ales, and one champagne with an umbrella and three olives- don't ask."

Even if the patrons had more energy, the band had lost almost all life. They seemed to have given up on dancing music, and switched instead to slow, sad numbers that sounded like the stuff Clint had listened to alone in his apartment the night Laura left.

_"If I didn't care..._

_Would it be the same?_

_Would my every prayer_

_Begin and end_

_With just your name..."_

"She's gunna have them all _weeping_ ," Quake muttered as she took the drinks Clint passed her for her tray. "If the Vision won't do anything about this, I'll kiss her myself to cheer her up a bit."

"Think that would work?" He liked Quake. She was quick and clever and sometimes forgot to act her age.

"I dunno, but it's a risk I'm willing to take."

Clint raised his eyebrows at Natasha as the waitress raced off again.

"So the Vision and the Witch?"

"What was that?" She had almost definitely heard- she just didn't want to engage in the gossip.

"J and Wanda. That's why she's so pissed at him? They're having some kind of romantic tiff?"

"I keep telling them all to keep their hands to themselves-" she shook her head as she somehow poured from three bottles at once.

"Explains a lot, I guess." Clint mulled this over, trying to see if all the pieces fit. "So Pietro likes Sam better than Jarvis for his sister, which is why it doesn't bother him that Sam keeps layin it on thick in front of him. But if she's so hung up on someone _else_ , I don't know why Sam would even bother."

It made sense, but not enough. Clint tried to ignore how hypocritical it was of him to sit around speculating about Sam's love life. But this was different. It was all in good fun. There was no way that Sam's romantic feelings or history were as complicated as Clint's.

"The moment you think you got these things figured out, Barton-" But Natasha never finished her thought, as Thor was bellowing from across the room.

"Hawkeye! I require you!"

He sighed. "I'm required. Hold down the fort, Widow."

~

Closing time was the real event. Wanda and Jarvis had an argument that would go down in the history books as the single most uncomfortable scene to witness of the decade. It ended with the singer declaring she would not return until her brother's hand had healed, as she wished never to speak to such a subpar pianist ever again. She stormed off up the stairs in a cloud of whipping bead fringe and smoke leaving the place ringing with silence in her absence.

"She'll come around," Steve assured- and it wasn't clear if he was talking to Jarvis or the band at large. "She's just worried about her brother, that's all."

"It is probably for the best," Jarvis sighed as he neatened his sheet music. "I am sorry Captain Rogers, Miss Romanov. I'm afraid I let you down in this position."

"You didn't, Vision."

"Yeah- you were just fine for the night, J."

"Even so," the Englishman went on. "I think it would be best if I returned to my usual post and found someone else to replace Mr. Maximoff until he has returned."

The entire staff seemed to repress the same groan. Clint understood. It was unlikely that any new player would cause less drama than what they had already witnessed. The tone of the entire establishment had reached such exhaustion and tension that it was a wonder no more fights had broken out. Maybe it was his police training and nothing more, but Clint thought he could smell a riot coming like a storm.

"I already have." Natasha gave Jarvis an obliging smile. "No offense, but I had planned on your stint being temporary from the beginning."

"That is certainly a relief. No offense taken."

"Your replacement should actually be here-" Natasha checked a small watch pinned to her gown. "Any moment now. And unless I'm mistaken she'll come with her very own singer."

Even as she spoke, there were footsteps on the stairs. Everyone looked up wearily, as though not sure they could handle anything else tonight.

"I think I might have been expected."

The pianist from the Raven looked about the room with a bemused expression at the foot of the stairs. Clint shook his head. He was doing that quite a bit lately. Just when he thought things couldn't get any more tangled, there was a strangled noise from the band.

"P-Peg?" Steve looked pale, like he had been caught doing something embarrassing by someone he admired.

"So good to see you again, Steve," the woman strode briskly into the room and crossed her arms to stare the drummer down as he cowered behind his high-hat like a child. "Did you think I'd forgotten how you always wandered off to places like this to 'find yourself'?" She swapped an exasperated look with one of the dancers. "Artists- you know."

"Peggy... can we not do this.... here?"

The woman held hard eye contact for a few silent and tense seconds. Then, a huge smile broke out onto her face for the first time.

"Oh please- come here you nervous ninny!"

The whole place seemed to sag in relief as Steve laughed and got up to embrace her quickly. A normal level of chatter resumed as Peggy was introduced to the rest of the band and staff that didn't already know her.

"Well, congrats," Clint shook his head at Natasha as he poured himself another drink. "Seems like your new pianist is just as crazy as the last one."

"Yes, I think she'll do for now."


	10. Masculine Women, Feminine Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things may be kinda quiet from me in the next few weeks, but know I sill love you and still appreciate every kudos, comment and bookmark!  
> Also, I may be switching my update days to Sundays just to try things out. I think it might help me to have my weekends be "catch up" time instead of "start new chapter" time.

Strangely enough, things reached a level of "normal" in the next few weeks. Clint spent part of the day at the precinct office, then changed for work at the Legion in the evening. He would mix drinks and toss out patrons making trouble, all while trying to ignore every single person's insinuations about his and the bartender's relationship. Sometimes, when things were quiet, Natasha left Pepper in charge and she and Clint would go to other clubs to pin down more info on local drugs. Much to Clint's chagrin, she sometimes went as Mr. Nathan.

"You're pretty good at the criminal life, detective."

They were in another one of the drag bars a few blocks away from the Legion. Clint had no idea how many were actually in the area. They seemed to be just as common as the standard speakeasies, and even more common than legal dancehalls. Clint was starting to think he should explore his own neighborhood more.

He was looking across the room. There was a pair of women across the bar that looked to be something other than drunk, but he hadn't seen if they had been interacting with anyone. Reconnaissance was an excellent excuse to avoid the way Natasha's trousers fit around her legs and her hair piled up inside her hat exposed her neck.

"Well, learned from the best, didn't I?"

She bat her lashes in a ridiculously exaggerated way that should not have looked appealing when paired with her male persona.

"Why, Detective, I'm flatt-"

"Can you-" he waved a hand to stop her, too tired to properly articulate anything. Despite falling into a routine, the fact of the matter was he was still getting far less sleep than he normally did. "Just not _do_ that?"

Her darkened eyebrows drew together at his tone. "Do _what_?"

"This whole-" he threw up his hands and tried not the think about how he wouldn't be saying any of this if he weren't exhausted and if he hadn't had a double serving of scotch fifteen minutes before. "Flirty thing."

She actually snorted. " _Flirty_ thing?"

"You _know_ ," he crossed his arms and sat back in his seat. The words were coming faster now that he had started them, but that didn't mean he didn't already regret them. "The _teasing_ and the _eyelashes_ and the asking me to help you with your _clothes_ -" he remembered halfway through his rant- "and saying you've been meaning to _tell_ me things and then getting interrupted and never bringing them up again!"

She raised her eyebrows at this last and waited for him to collect his thoughts and continue. When he only buried his face in his glass, she answered slowly.

"What I was going to tell you... was that it really turned things around for me, when we worked that case."

Clint blinked at her. Whatever he was expecting her to say on the subject, it was not that. He watched her swill the ice around in her glass, watching the same pair he had been a moment before, but if he had to guess, he'd say she wasn't really focused too hard on them.

"Oh come on- don't look at me like that," she didn't even look over to see his expression, and if he didn't know any better, Clint would say her neck was flushing. "It's not like a joined a convent or anything."

"So what _did_ happen?"

She sighed and leaned back in the booth. "I looked out for me back then. My experience was that the criminal types take advantage. Then, if you went to the law abiding types, they'd take even more advantage." She shook her head. "So it was best to stay outside any of it. The good, the bad- I stayed away from everyone."

Clint forced himself to take another sip of his drink so he wouldn't stare. "Seems like what you're most comfortable with."

But she frowned at him and shook her head again. "I'm kind of liking it better now that I've got people."

Clint couldn't help it. His lip was twitching. "Am _I_ your people?"

"One of many."

He scowled, which only made her smile.

"But the thing is, I read what people want pretty good. It's how I stayed alive this long. And when we were working that case..." she smiled at the bottom of her glass and took a breath before going on. "You really wanted to help them girls. You weren't just working for a paycheck or bribes. Didn't know there were good cops out there."

Clint was torn between gloating and feeling uncomfortable with such a glowing review of his moral fortitude. In all his life, he never would have suspected this was the secret Natasha had been keeping. He had thought that it was something... well, he didn't know what he had thought it was. But something that would make his life harder, that was for sure. In a more real way, at least. This still complicated things. But it was their normal level of complicated. It was a complicated Clint had grown accustomed to and if anyone asked, he'd have to say it had become comfortable with it.

"There's still a hell of a lot of bad cops out there." It felt like the reasonable, modest thing to say.

"Oh- of course," she shrugged. "But I found out there was people out there worth siding with."

Clint swallowed and tried not the think about how close they were sitting. He could feel the heat radiating off her leg. If he was being honest, he couldn't really blame his temperature on the drinks. He'd only had one. He'd been drinking more often since he started working at the Legion, but when he did drink, he had less. Sam said it was healthier, and Clint privately thought it was probably true. But he liked having the excuse of impairment to explain why he behaved and felt like this around Natasha.

"You went straight cuz of me?"

"Well," the old flirtation was back with a slow smile and a ghost of a wink. "Not _straight_. I found a happy medium. Baby steps, Detective. And anyway, it's more having people that I like than being a goodie good. I know you have my back- you and Wilson and Fury. Along with everyone at the Legion."

Clint nodded, feeling like he finally understood the rag-tag group she had assembled. If Natasha only hired people she liked and trusted, it would make sense that they happened to be a hodge-podge of dramatics and eccentrics. She had always had strange tastes.

"That's... good." He cleared his throat. "I'm... real happy for you."

She smiled in a way he hadn't seen yet. It took him a moment to realize it was one of gratitude. Something in his head shifted. This confession required reciprocation. He had to say something that would take the pressure off of her so she would look at him without any of this new brand of tension.

"Um... Nat..."

"Oh son of a bitch."

Clint blinked. He had been leaning in. Not for any particular reason, of course. Just leaning. But before he could do anything else, she grabbed the back of his neck.

"Don't. Move." Her lips were moving far too close to his. But there was real urgency in her voice that was helping Clint focus. "So... you remember that one piece of work from Little Budapest right? The one they could only pin a two year sentence on?"

Clint swallowed a groan. "Sitwell, wasn't it?"

"Something like that. Fun part is he seems a little more buddy-buddy with Rumlow than I'd like."

"Rumlow?" Clint frowned, completely forgetting their uncomfortable situation. "From the 9-8?"

"That's the one."

"Think we're made?"

"Sitwell caught my eye a second ago, but in my current ensemble, I think it will take a little more for him to place me. But if he sees you-"

"I think I'm wearin the same tie."

"We should get you in a frock next time."

He was about to roll his yes and snap a response, but she cursed again and her grip on the back of his neck tightened.

"Well- wasn't how I planned this, but-"

Clint's brain froze completely as she crashed her lips into his. Both their eyes were still open and now he knew why people usually did not kiss this way. It was bizarrely clinical, to stare at someone's eyes this close. He was probably crossing his own.

He probably shouldn't be thinking about eyes. He should be thinking about lips. That's what kissing was all about, right? And as far as lips went, Clint was sure there wasn't anyone with better ones than Natasha. But he was having trouble thinking of them when he knew his eyes were crossed and he had made a very stupid "Mfmn-" noise when they first made contact.

At last, she pulled back and Clint's mind sped up to catch up with the time it had lost. And by 'sped up,' he meant 'scrambled stupidly and spilled out of his mouth in an unintelligible gurgle.'

"The hell- don't- _why_?"

"Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable." She checked over his shoulder before pulling completely away and moving to the end of the booth. "And it worked. We're in the clear. Now let's get out of here."

Clint purposefully said nothing on the walk back to the Legion. He was not going to rise to her bait. Because she _obviously_ expected him to have a reaction to this. She had to. But she had not affected him. Not at all. He was a grown ass man with a divorce already under his belt. Kisses were nothing. Forgettable even. Even kisses with Natasha Romanov- criminal speakeasy bartender with the habit of making mincemeat out of anyone who gave her trouble. And who happened to be dressed like a very small and very pouty-lipped man at the time of the kiss.

"Are you going to give me the silent treatment all night now?"

"I'm not giving you any treatment, Nat. I'm just walkin."

He didn't even have to look over at her to know she was rolling her eyes. It should probably bother him that he knew her so well that he could accurately guess her expression in almost every situation.

"Fine, then. We won't speak to each other ever again. Just because I saved our bacon on an undercover mission."

"It's not a mission if it's out of the books, and you didn't save nothin."

"Oh- so you want to go back and have a nice chat with Sitwell?"

When he only rolled his eyes, she roughly linked an arm in his. Clint briefly considered pulling away, but all in all, it didn't bother him that much.


	11. Yes Sir, That's My Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a break while things were crazy at work, but plot this week! Real plot! I promise!  
> As always, thank you for your support and I hope you are enjoying this silly little thing.

It felt like no time at all, but suddenly Clint looked up and the twins were back. The bar was full of more distraction and chatter than usual during setup as friends and coworkers caught up and welcomed their return. Despite the explosive manner in which the two of them had left, it seemed that loyalty in the Legion ran deep.

"How's the hand?"

"Fine- I feel nothing. The Widow could have let me back weeks ago."

"What did you do for so long away from us?"

"Oh, learned to knit of course."

"Done sittin on your asses then?" Clint forced a scowl so they wouldn't know he was a little relieved with their return. Not that he had missed them himself, of course. He just liked the idea of Natasha keeping her handpicked team of misfits all together.

"So concerned for us-" the singer cooed as she reached up and slapped his face lightly. "Such a nice policeman."

"I'll arrest you in a second, Kid." But he knew he didn't sound remotely serious.

"I'd like to see you try, Hawk."

Clint wondered for a moment how the two would react to their replacements. But he watched the four of them shake hands and laugh together as they swapped music and introduced themselves.

"Think the time off did them good," he said as he and Sam headed toward the bathrooms to scrub the sinks before the Legion opened.

"Good for _them_." Sam dropped his bucket of soapy water and started to scrub at an old rust stain with a scowl.

"Oh come on, Wilson-" he rolled his eyes. He'd tried to ignore Sam's bad moods lately, but his patience was wearing thin. "It's not like you to get so hung up on a skirt. Word is Wanda's got a thing for J anyway, and there's plenty of other women in New York."

"Yeah? And what about you?"

Clint scowled and Sam finally cracked a smile.

"See? Not so funny the other way, is it? So why don't we call a tru-"

"Me and Romanov kissed when we were out on recon the other night."

Sam didn't say anything for a second, but then let out a bark of laughter Clint was sure was audible out in the main bar. He hadn't really meant to say it. But it had come out in a rush because he didn't want to argue with Sam. They needed to be a team, and it was hard when they weren't talking as freely as they normally did.

"Yeah, yeah." Clint grumbled as the laughter died down. "I don't laugh at _your_ love life, do I?"

"Mine ain't as funny as yours," Sam had given up on cleaning and was now leaning against the sink, grinning at him. He looked like himself for the first time in what felt like weeks. "So- how was it?"

"It wasn't a _real_ kiss. It was a _work_ kiss."

Sam rolled his eyes. " _'Work kiss_.' Listen to you. You need to get out more, partner."

"That's the problem." Clint groaned and rubbed his hands down his face. Every time he sat down he was in danger of falling asleep and he needed to force himself awake. "I work most the day, come here at night, or go out undercover with Romanov three or four nights a week. I get out _too_ much."

"Still don't answer my question."

"What?" Clint tried to ignore him while he went back to scrubbing. Even if it made Sam grin again, he wasn't sure he wanted to have this conversation with _anyone_.

"Was it a _good_ work kiss or a _bad_ work kiss?"

"Well, what do _you_ think? You've got eyes, haven't you? You've seen Romanov."

"Looks ain't everything, Barton."

"Since when did _you_ get so wise?"

The night was hectic from the beginning, but Clint was finally starting to get used to the pace. But for all that they were talented and entertaining, Peggy and Angie's style of music was much more relaxed than the usual players. It wasn't long into the night before the rest of the band was red in the face and shining with sweat. Steve kept shooting forbidding looks at Pietro, but the pianist did not slow his playing. His sister seemed the only one unbothered by the punishing pace that he forced. When her words did not come fast enough, she only danced behind the microphone, closing her eyes and letting the beaded fringe of her dress make percussive noise to the beat of the song.

The patrons had seemed to catch the feverish pace and were drinking and dancing as wild as animals. Clint had spilled drinks on four different people, and none of them seemed to notice or care. He'd stopped trying to count how many woman had "accidentally" fallen against him, giggling madly. There weren't any fights yet, but he could feel himself getting more and more tense.

"What is going _on_ with this place?" The curvy dancer called Darcy limped over behind the counter and bent to take off a shoe with a broken heel. "Anyone got any chewing gum?"

"Ask Angie if she's still around." Clint shot out automatically. He'd seen the woman blowing bubbles as she cleaned tables before opening just about every night. Natasha shot him a grateful, if somewhat surprised look for handling the inquiry himself.

"Thanks, Hawk. I'll try her."

"You're getting pretty comfortable with us criminals, aren't you?" Natasha grinned at him now. But it wasn't as sly as usual. More of a fond little quirk to her mouth. Clint tried not to think about how his own expressions had taken on a similar fond comfort.

"I'm pretty flexible, believe it or not."

"I'm learning."

He shouldn't be smiling back at that. But he was. Thankfully, before he could say anything else, Steve saved him from over the microphone.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we're going to take five, so right now, enjoy the comedy of our dear friends from the Raven, Captain America, and Miss Broadway!"

"Hawkeye- can you-" with a sigh, Natasha jerked her head at the band, where it seemed things had gotten tense once more.

Clint sighed. That didn't take long. He made his way through the crowd, which now had its attention firmly on the two women from the Raven.

"What is going on with you two?" Steve was hissing at the twins as Clint finally made it over to all of them. "Are you drunk?"

"Of course not, Steve." Wanda giggled faintly and swayed, grabbing her brother's arm. "We are professionals."

Steve did not look convinced. No one was. Up close, Clint was taken aback by the twins' appearance. They were both pale and there were dark circles under their eyes. They seemed to be having trouble focusing their vision and looking down, Clint saw their hands were shaking. When they moved, they bumped into one another and laughed like children.

"You two don't look so good."

"I feel wonderful-" Wanda grinned in his general direction. "It is a beautiful night, isn't it?"

Steve frowned at them both and tried to keep his voice low so the nearby guests wouldn't hear. "I think you two should call it for tonight. Maybe you came back too soon."

"Maybe you act like old man too soon."

"They're drunk!"

"Get'm out of here."

The rest of the nearby staff was muttering mutinously, eying the guests of the club in case one of them should notice the conflict. Clint's hand automatically rested on his hip. He could smell another fight on the air. Couldn't they all just go one night?

"The Widow says we have job here!"

"Yeah, well, don't mean you can drink during business hours, does it?"

"Thor- take them out," Sam's teeth were clenched tight. "Before they embarrass themselves any worse."

Both twins spat at him words no one understood and didn't have time to wonder about because in the next second, the entire bar was thrown into chaos.

A series of things happened in quick succession. All the blood visibly rushed from Pietro's face in mid Hungarian curse, one of the waitresses popped the cork on a bottle of champagne, Clint automatically drew his gun at the sharp noise, the guest applauded at Peggy's latest raunchy joke, Pietro fell face first into the nearest table, and Wanda screamed so loud Clint expected all the windows on the block to shatter.

The bar exploded at the scream, then further when people turned and saw Clint's gun and a prone body on the ground. Patrons ran every which way, shouting and dragging each other toward the exits. Wanda just kept screaming. Clint thought it was lucky she wasn't standing near the microphone anymore, as he was pretty sure he'd lost all his remaining hearing as it was.

"Barton!"

 _That_ he heard. He jumped and dropped his gun back down to his side as he turned.

"Nat-"

"Did you just _shoot_ my pianist?!"

"What? No- I-"

The rest of the staff was converging around the chaos as the bar continued to empty itself of guests. No one had seen what happened and Clint still couldn't see what was going on around the band. The place had turned into some bizarre rumor mill in under 30 seconds.

"What the hell happen-"

"Who got shot?"

"No one-"

"Who's on the floor?"

"Quicksilver!"

"What's he doing down there?"

"The detective shot him!"

"Sam wouldn't shoot Pietro, he still-"

"Not Falcon, the new-"

"Hawkeye shot-"

"I didn't shoot anyone!"

Natasha pushed past the mess of people and dropped down onto the floor next to the twins. From what Clint could see, Wanda had dropped down to her knees and was tugging at her brother's arm where he lay unconscious on the carpet. She was still screaming at the top of her lungs.

"Can someone just-"

Quake grabbed the singer's elbows and dragged her upright, then slapped her hard in the face. This did very little to help the chaos, as now instead of screaming, Wanda started shouting and hitting the waitress back.

"Stop that!" Natasha had a hand on Pietro's neck, checking his pulse. "He's alive- stop yelling!"

"We- we were- we just-"

"Everyone knows you two have been drinking, Wanda. He's just blacked out. He'll come arou-"

But Wanda was shaking her head vigorously as she continued to jabber on in Hungarian.

"Uh-uh-" she finally managed to take a breath and swallow a few times. "Pills."

Nearly everyone in the bar threw up their hands in frustration. Clint pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. Of course. Things couldn't be simple and easy. The twins _had_ to get themselves doped up on their first day back.

"Thor- Clint- get him into Sam's car-" Natasha was scribbling an address on a sheet of paper for Sam and tugging a wad of cash from the neck of her dress. "Bring him back to Banner. I need to stay here and clean all this up."

They managed, somehow, to get the pianist into the back of Sam's roadster with no small amount of effort. Pietro was much heavier than he looked. Wanda crawled into the back of the car to join her twin, back to her foreign ramblings. Sam dropped into the front seat and, seeing as how they were partners, Clint figured he should probably come with. At least to question Wanda once she had calmed down a bit.

Sam started off down the narrow alley before Clint had even pulled his leg inside the car.

"Hey!" He managed to get all the way inside and slam the door as they careened down the street. "What's the big id-"

"Can't believe-" Sam's teeth were grit so hard his words were barely intelligible. "Can't believe- so- so stupid."

Clint frowned. His partner's hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard it was creaking under his fingers. A tick was going in his jaw and his face was ashen. Not to mention his eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror to check on the backseat.

In just a moment, everything clicked into place in Clint's mind. The dynamics of every conversation between them, the way Sam was oddly secretive about the whole thing, "not paying you to flirt with the damn Hunyak."

"Damn," he muttered, seeing the entire scene with fresh eyes. "I had the wrong Hunyak."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know I stick to pretty mainstream ships in this fic but I really want Falcon/Quicksilver to be a thing so you can't stop me. Hope my crackship doesn't take anyone out of it!


	12. Don't Forget to Mess Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update on updates: I'm currently very busy and also lacking in the creativity department lately, but I'm trying to update one of each of my three active stories every week. So maybe not very frequent updates on this one, but I promise it's still very much in the works! And there's plot now so yay!  
> As always thank you for all your support and I hope you enjoy.

They stopped not more than five minutes later at a dingy apartment building in one of the more dangerous neighborhoods in the precinct. Clint had busted at least three different low level dealers in the area recently. The three of them managed to carry the still-unconscious pianist up the stairs to the third floor and knock. Clint knew Pietro was breathing, but he was still a frightening sight, unconscious, covered in blood from a likely broken nose from his fall, and paler than the snow that had begun to fall outside.

"Oh Lord- what now..." the disheveled man who answered the door looked groggy but unsurprised to see the lopsided huddle on his doorstep. "Get him in."

They followed him into what looked like a guest bedroom repurposed for a private doctor's needs. The stranger checked Pietro's pulse and eyes while Wanda hovered around anxiously, trying to explain what they had taken and how much.

"I do not understand," she was wringing her hands as the doctor readied a syringe. "We took same amount. And I am smaller. Why-"

"We'll see once I test some blood..."

The doctor leaned in and had barely stuck the needle in Pietro's arm when the pianist sat bolt upright and punched him. The doctor stumbled back, holding his nose. Wanda shrieked, half in surprise, half in relief. She ran to her twin to steady him as he tried to sit up and get his bearings.

"Shit!"

"Pietro!"

"Wha-"

"Jesus Christ..." Sam muttered, running a hand down his face.

"Doctor Ban- Wha- Ah!" Pietro winced as he finally managed to prop himself up on one elbow, then fell back against the mattress, his teeth grit and face slightly green.

"Calm down, alright? You passed out and I just need a little blood to figure out why."

The doctor had barely finished explaining this when Wanda began her rapid fire Hungarian once again. This time, Pietro could actually respond and they were soon in the midst of what was clearly a heated argument. Likely over whether he took more pills without her knowledge. The doctor, completely unbothered by this, took the momentary distraction to slide the needle into Pietro's arm without being hit again, his own nose now trickling blood to match his patient's. Clint elbowed Sam and jerked his head towards the apartment's kitchen.

"So..." Clint was about to bring up how Sam's love life was _definitely_ more interesting than his own, but looking at his partner, he stopped. Sam wouldn't look up at him and seemed tense, like he was bracing himself for a blow.

"Yeah- well- it was nice bein partne-"

"Feel like we should call Romanov- maybe even Fury."

Sam looked up, clearly startled. "Uh- yeah. Might have stumbled on a lead in all this."

Clint nodded. It seemed like treating this like a typical case was the right course of action. Whatever blow Sam had come to expect wasn't falling, and he seemed relieved to talk about anything else.

"You wanna call or should-" but before he could finish, the door burst open and Natasha rushed in, a wool coat wrapped tight around herself. "Speak of the-"

"Is he dead?" She looked grim and hard- arms crossed like she was ready for bad news.

"What? No-" Sam shook his head and sat heavily in the nearest moth-eaten chair. "Punched your doctor. He's fine."

"Oh." She dropped her arms down, looking between Sam and Clint. "Good."

She strode abruptly to the doctor's back room. If Clint hadn't been paying attention, he might have missed her touching Sam's shoulder as she passed. Did _everyone_ know about Sam and Pietro but him? He brushed the annoyance with himself away and watched her go, eyebrows raised.

"Is she... _worried_? About another _person_?"

Sam gave him a half grin. "Think so."

She was back in less than a few minutes, the doctor and Wanda in tow. Wanda's eyes looked red from all the crying and she walked with her head down, like a child who knew she was about to be told off.

"We've got a lead," Natasha was speaking sharp and clipped, her jaw tight. "I'm going to follow up. The twins can't stay here. Keep an eye on them, would you? Call them witnesses or something."

"Oh come one, Nat-"

"I don't want them going back to their place. The dealer knows where they live."

"You know who-"

"Do either of you have room for both?" She completely ignored the obvious questions he was trying to get out before Sam shook his head for the both of them. "Well- figure out which is staying where. I don't care."

"Nat- I don't even got a couch-"

"I can stay with the Vision." Wanda looked sour at the prospect, but didn't seem too keen on staying with Sam either.

Sam looked about to protest the arrangement, but Natasha was already moving toward the door.

"That's settled then. I'm going to follow up on the dealer."

Clint started after her, and almost ran into the doctor is he did the same. "I should come with-"

"No-" she shook her head stiffly. "Plausible deniability, dearest."

She kissed Clint on the cheek before he could protest and buttoned her coat again.

"Wait- Nat-"

"Good to see you again, Bruce."

Maybe he was reading far too much into things, but Clint thought the doctor's hand on Natasha's arm was a little too warm- bordering on _forward_. In a second, he felt like the doctor's entire appearance changed. Instead of looking sleepy and harmless, he suddenly seemed dirty and clearly up to no good. His unassuming posture looked crouched to strike and Clint was starting to suspect his droopy, calm eyes looked that way from dope use. He must supplement his income with dealing. Clearly that was what was going on. Maybe he should arrest him right this second. Then Natasha wouldn't ever have to deal with someone so awful ever again. Wouldn't have to give him grateful smiles that were a little too familiar either.

"Thanks for all your help. We'll settle up later, alright?"

"It's nothing, Nat. Just glad everyone's okay."

"Romanov- where are you-" Clint didn't actually think she would answer, he just couldn't watch the exchange in silence.

"I told you, don't worry your sweet little head," she flipped a hand at him and started for the door again. "Have fun getting my pianist back down the stairs."

They watched her go and stood in silence for a moment.

"I... think..." Wanda was still looking very pale and having trouble focusing. "I think I will be sick now."

Sam drove them to Jarvis's small but surprisingly nice house uptown. Clint took a moment to wonder how the doorman could possibly afford such an expensive property before he realized that he and Sam couldn't be the only ones with day jobs. They said very little the entire drive and tried to ignore Wanda's sniffing as she sat with her sedated twin in the back seat.

"Do you want me to pick you-"

"No- don't worry about it." Clint shrugged before he got out of the car. "I'll get some info from Wanda and get a cab. You deal with-" he jerked his head at the back seat.

"Yeah," Sam looked like he wasn't exactly thrilled to be "dealing with" any of this. "Sure."

"Hey-" Clint didn't like the way Sam still wasn't looking at him. There was something in his ducked head and averted eyes that reminded him of the street orphans in the city that were used to being punished just for existing. "I know I'm being helpful right now, but don't go thinkin I'm not going to give you shit for this later. I mean- come on. You couldn't have picked _anyone_ less annoying?"

This, at least, startled a laugh out of his partner.

"You're a good guy, Clint."

"Yeah, yeah."

Jarvis didn't seem the least bit surprised to see them. He stepped back from the open door the moment he saw who was standing on his front step.

"Detective, please come in."

Wanda brushed past both of them into the house. She clearly knew her way around.

"Sorry about this," Clint sighed and followed the Legion's doorman into a neat, clean dining room. He couldn't help but think it looked like a room in a catalogue. Like no one actually lived here. "It's been a long night."

"I understand. Things at the Legion can get..."

"This is normal?"

"No," Jarvis gave what seemed to be the thousandth hefty sigh of the evening. "But it's what I keep telling myself."

Wanda was back, a cup of coffee in her still shaking hands. Jarvis seemed torn between acting natural and snapping to attention every time she was in proximity. Clint severely hoped he never looked this way around... anyone.

"I am thinking you have questions for me, Hawk." She dropped into the seat at the head of the table and took a sip of her coffee. "But I have told the Widow everything."

"Well, frankly," Clint sat down across from her and pulled a notepad from his coat. "Romanov is not an officer of the law. No matter what she thinks, she does not run this city. So- start from the top. When did you and your brother start using?"

"Three... four days ago." She was staring determinedly at her coffee cup. "There are many dealers in our neighborhood. We have always avoided them. But Pietro's hand still hurt when he tried to play and we needed to get back to work."

"So you bought pills from someone in your neighborhood? Do you have a name? Address?"

But she was shaking her head. "Not from our neighborhood. We didn't want anyone who already knew where we live."

Clint caught himself nodding in approval and pulled up a scowl. "Someone that smart's got no business messin with that stuff."

He sounded old. Like the teachers and early bosses that told him he needed to respect authority and keep his head down. Wanda crossed her arms and slumped in her seat and he tried not to think about how often the younger version of himself had pulled that same petulant scowl.

"Do you want this information or not, Detective?"

Clint waved a hand for her to proceed.

"We asked around at other clubs. But we eventually went with one of the pushers we had seen in the Legion." She swallowed. "He sent us to meet his boss. I don't know his name. I give the Widow a description- that is when she left the doctor's apartment."

Clint frowned. That made it sound like Natasha recognized the description.

"You wanna repeat that for me?"

"He was... older. 50s. Light hair- but not grey yet. Small eyes. Square jaw. He... he seemed too rich and proper to deal drugs."

There were probably a thousand men that fit that description in their precinct alone. But Clint's face was starting to feel hot and numb.

"I have to head out."

"Thank you, detective. Wa- Miss... Miss Maximoff, I will sleep in the living room, please help yourself to the bedroo-"

"Or you could come to bed like an adult!" Wanda called after him as he followed Clint to the door.

Jarvis sighed again. "I apologize, Detective. My relations with Miss Maximoff are..."

"Complicated?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about it."

Jarvis allowed a small smile.

"In any case, thank you for bringing her here. I'm sure you'll catch the dealer soon enough."

Clint nodded and was almost to the door when the phone rang from somewhere in the interior of the house. Shortly after it stopped, Wanda's voice called down the hall.

"Hawk! It is the Widow. She wants you."

Grimacing at her phrasing, Clint strode quickly through to a cozy living room, hoping to finish things up and get out of there before sunrise.

"This is Barton."

"I need you. Now. Hotel Cicero."


	13. The Cell Block Tango

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey team! Little late and short this week but still moving! I tried really hard to balance serious subjects with comedy and I'm not sure it worked, so I apologize for that. :P  
> I should probably warn you guys: I'm starting a new job and I may have to take a hiatus from all fic writing for awhile. Never fear! This does not mean I am abandoning anything. I just need some time to kinda get my feet under me with my new schedule. Speaking of which, my hours are a little weird so I may play around with posting day/times. So, if you're looking for updates on any of my three active stories, your best bet is to bookmark or subscribe!  
> Thanks for all your support and enjoy!

It was starting to snow in earnest now. It was nearing Thanksgiving- the time of year that the weather in New York was dangerously unpredictable. The Cicero hotel wasn't in the precinct, but it was near enough that Clint arrived in good time. But he still narrowly avoided at least three accidents on the way. Every year, it seemed people forgot how to drive in snow, no matter how long they had done it.

He flashed his badge at the front desk and asked if they had seen anyone of Natasha's description. The concierge took him up to the room without question. It looked like too nice of a place to be used to police raids, but it was hard to tell these days. He took a breath before knocking on the door.

"Police, open up."

The chain rattled and a wide hazel eye appeared in the tiny crack that appeared.

"Detective Barton!" Natasha threw the door wide with a dazzling smile for the benefit of the concierge. "So glad you could make it-" her eyes dropped to the badge on his jacket and widened almost comically. "Oh heavens! I _do_ hope you didn't think this was a work matter!"

She forced a laugh and pulled him inside by the collar, rolling her eyes at the slightly miffed looking concierge to include him on the joke of her too-serious guest. She closed the door and pressed Clint against it with far more strength than he felt the situation called for.

"What-" Clint tried to lift his face out of the way as she fitted her chin over his shoulder to look through the peephole.

"Sh!"

Trying to ignore how he was getting far too used to her shushing him, Clint waiting patiently. He also tried not to think about how hot her breath felt on his neck. And which parts of her were pressed up against which parts of him. He was definitely not thinking about how amazing it was that she could be so strong but so soft all over. That would be the wrong thing to think after such a wild and chaotic night.

"He's gone," she stayed where she was and dropped her forehead onto his shoulder. "Shit..."

"Hey, you alrig-" he was about half a second from letting himself touch her back when he saw it.

"It," being more accurately, "him." Because _he_ was a prone figure, lying face-down on the carpet. He wasn't moving. And even in the dim light, Clint could see a dark stain under him.

"Shit- Nat- what did you-"

"Before you say anything-"

But he was already brushing past her and dropping down to check the man's pulse. No luck. He was already cool to the touch. Clint thought his own body must be just as cold.

"Holy shit- Nat-"

"Before you start blowing a gasket, just know it was in self-defense."

"You killed-" he pulled his gloves out of his pocket and put them on hastily so he could shift the body to see the man's face. He already suspected the truth, but he was hoping he was wrong. He had never been so horribly right.

"Oh shi-"

"Barton- don't panic-"

"You killed-"

"In a situation of him or me-"

"The deputy commissioner-"

"No jury would convict me-"

"Deputy Commissioner Pierce-"

"Wait until you hear everything he's been up to-"

"Oh I think I'm going to be sick-"

Clint scrambled back and leaned against the wall. He put his head between his knees and squeezed his eyes tight in the hope that the body would be gone when he opened them again. Of course, it didn't work, but he had to try.

"Just relax. It's not as bad as it looks."

"Not as-" he lifted his head to stare at her. "Not as bad? Nat- you _killed_ someone. Someone that _Fury_ reports to. This- this is-"

"Look- he's been taking bribes, dealing, all kinds of horrible things. And when I confronted him, he pulled his side-arm."

Clint let his face fall against his knees again. "How do you know all that?"

"He was the one who pushed for my prosecution, remember? I've been keeping an ear open since and gathered any intel I found to give to Fury."

"And I'm supposed to just take your word for all this?" He could hear his voice crack from the effort not to shout. He was panicking. Clint could feel it in his gut just like his first day on the job. If he didn't calm down soon, he would spiral.

"Well, now that he's dead, the department will have access to his personal files-"

"Don't tell me you killed him just to expose-"

"No- haven't you been listening? It was self-defense."

The air felt hot and thin and he was having trouble breathing. When he looked up, Natasha was crouched on the floor across from him, her elbows on her knees. As much as he would have appreciated her showing a little more gravity over the situation, Clint didn't like how white her face looked or how thin her lips had gotten.

"You- you alright?"

She swallowed and took a slow, even breath before nodding. Clint sighed and ran a hand down his face. He was horrified, furious and numb. But a small part of him knew that he was calmer than he should be. He should not trust that Natasha had made the right choices in the situations she found herself in. He should not trust Natasha Romanov at all. But he did. There was no way around it. If they were back in Little Budapest today, he would get himself shot on her information all over again.

"Alright, let's take it from the top. You were here because you got a message to show up. You don't know who actually sent it."

~

She sat in the holding cell like a queen. If Clint leaned back in his seat across from Fury in the director's office, he could see her, sitting on the hard wooden bench against the stone wall. None of the other suspects would speak to or approach her after the first. Clint hadn't heard what passed between them, but it was clearly effective in keeping anyone else from bothering her. Thankfully, the bullpen was empty at the early hour, and Clint was relieved that they didn't have to deal with the rest of the precinct's reaction to a female cop killer.

"So... This isn't ideal."

Clint glared at the Captain. "Not ideal? How would you prefer one of your illegal undercover civilian informants to be arrested for murdering an officer?"

Fury gave him a look that said that his attitude was definitely not appreciated at the moment.

"Thankfully, there's nothing that can fully link Romanov's usual arrangement with us to this incident."

"Aside from the twins."

"That'd be a hell of a story for anyone to stumble onto, but I think we get them layin low awhile and it shouldn't be a problem."

"Easier said than done. You met those two?"

"That's why Wilson and Jarvis have orders to keep them under house arrest- and Rogers has instructions to check up every few days in case of any more romantic falling outs."

Clint tried not to scowl at the reminder that he was the last person in New York to know about his partner's love life.

"Thought of everything, didn't you? Bad news is I got no explanation for show up at the hotel alone."

Fury nodded in agreement. "I think this may be a case for the truth."

When Clint raised his eyebrows, he pulled a tight smile.

"Romanov is in hot water no matter what. Her best bet would be to pull an emotionally distressed waif routine. If she called you personally without telling you the situation, it could be folded in as a civilian mistake rather than police misconduct."

Clint nodded slowly. "Just hope it doesn't weaken her case."

Fury gave him a very particular look out of his one eye. "The focus is protecting this precinct, Barton."

"What? Yeah. 'course."

Fury looked like he was about to say something else, but there was a sharp rap on the office door.

"I'm sorry-" a stranger in dark glasses poked his head in through the door. "I don't mean to interrupt, but I'm here to represent my client? A Miss Natasha Romanov?"

"In the holding cell," Fury grabbed the keys off his belt and got to his feet. "I'll get you an interview room."

"Thank you."

Clint watched them make their way through the bullpen, Fury leading the way, the lawyer following, tapping a cane between each desk. There was a very surreal moment as the room spun a little around him that Clint realized he had not eaten in 24 hours. Somewhere between the overdosing jazz musicians, murdered deputy commissioners, and blind lawyers, he'd forgotten to go home.

He reached for the phone on Fury's desk and called one of the few numbers he knew.

"You eaten yet? Good. I'm stopping at the all hours diner on my way over."


	14. Sing, Sing, Sing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually did okay getting this one up quick! But seriously this time: I'm learning a new job and moving. Updates will be scarce.  
> As always, thank you for your support and enjoy!

Sam looked exhausted when he opened the door to his apartment. Clint didn't know what to say, so he held up the paper sack from the diner.

"Hey. Come in."

Clint followed him into the cramped unit and sat in a chair at the breakfast table. He watched Sam continue to an open door to the bedroom. Sam tried to block the view inside as he closed the door, but Clint caught a glimpse of a lean, muscled back and tousled white hair tangled in the sheets. Clint opened his mouth, then thought better of whatever it was he was about to say.

"So-" Sam dropped into the opposite chair and started on the french fries. "We got anything new?"

"Nothing. Except the twins got their pills from Deputy Commissioner Pierce. Oh- and Nat went to meet him in a hotel and murdered him for it."

Sam blinked at him, continuing to chew.

"Huh."

Clint scowled, a little disappointed. He was looking forward to someone sharing his horror and frustration.

"Fury told you when he called to say Maximoff should lay low here, didn't he?"

"He did. Already had my panic attack over it. Restarted the shouting match between me and-" he jerked his head at the bedroom door. "So I've used up all my drama for one night. I'm completely numb."

"Fair." Clint hesitated, then decided to treat the situation like any normal case in which neither of them had any romantic feelings for suspects or witnesses. "So... get anything from...?" He followed Sam's lead in jerking his head at the door rather than saying Pietro's name.

Sam shook his head. "No, sorry."

There was a bit of that look again. The 'orphan used to a beating' look. Clint cleared his throat.

"How is he?"

"He's alright. Or- he will be. Withdrawals are rough already- and it'll only get worse. Sure Wanda's in a similar state. But they weren't on the stuff long. They'll pull through fine, I expect."

"Good." Clint cleared his throat again, hoping he sounded gruff and careless. "That's good. There- uh- anything we can do to help?"

"No. Mostly just needs a distraction from thinking about the stuff."

Clint nodded, his lips pressed tight. A small cough still managed to escape him though. Sam frowned at him as he cleared his throat a few more times and gave his sternum a good thumping- feigning a cough as an excuse not to speak for a moment.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just- is that what you're callin it? _Distractin_ him?"

Sam scowled and threw up his hands. "Aw- come on, Clint. Don't be like that!"

Clint couldn't help it- and soon after he broke and laughed, Sam gave in as well, his scowl cracking into a wide grin. They were sleep deprived and needed the release and it took far longer than it should have for them to calm down.

"You're a good guy, Clint. A good guy."

"I guess."

They finished eating in comfortable quiet. When they were almost finished, they both froze at a slight rustling noise coming from the bedroom.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Come back to bed, _Drágám_. I'm awake and _very_ lonely."

Sam looked about ready to walk off a cliff. Clint tried to contain himself as his partner ran a hand down his face.

"...someone's here, Pietro."

" _Baszd meg_."

Sam glared at Clint's shaking shoulders.

"Not a goddamn word, Barton."

"Oh- it is the Hawk?"

There was more rustling and a few thuds before Pietro stumbled out of the bedroom, yawning as he pulled on an undershirt. He looked in rough shape- pasty complexion, dark circles and all, but the blood from his nose was cleaned up and at least he was conscious. He shook though- tight tremors just like his sister- and the weak grin he offered Clint in greeting looked like a took a lot out of him.

"You have talked to my sister, yes? Is she alright? Is she still angry with me?"

"Pietro- go back to bed."

The pianist ignored Sam and sniffed the pot of coffee on the counter before pouring himself a cup.

"I didn't take more than her. She doesn't believe me but I didn't," he informed them matter-of-factly as he reached for the paper sack still on the table. "None for me? Rude."

Clint raised his eyebrows at Sam, who got up and muttered something about going back to bed. Pietro made a face once the bedroom door closed and took a gulp of coffee.

"He is just angry because he was the one to break it off this time, so he has to be the one to say he is sorry."

Clint raised his eyed him skeptically. "Don't think you got anything to apologize for?"

"Me? For what?"

"I dunno- makin him worried you were dead?"

Pietro snorted. "Sam does not worry about me. He just gets annoyed."

Clint opened his mouth, then closed it when he remembered he could be pretty dense about this sort of thing too. It would be pretty rich of him to start throwing out romantic advice with one ex-wife and one... something sitting in a jail cell.

"Yeah, well- it's been a long day."

~

No one seemed to know what was in store for the Legion the next afternoon. But without conferring, most of the employees showed up anyway. They sat around playing morose games of cards and eating peanuts. Clint joined Sam and Thor's table the moment he arrived and the security man dealt him in for the next hand without a word between them.

"So-" he cleared his throat after a few minutes. "How's...?" He let the question hang in the air until Sam gave him an un-amused look.

"Fine. I mean- not- he will be fine. But... you know."

"Sure, sure. Know why he passed out like that?"

"Naw, still waiting to hear from Doctor Banner."

Clint tried to focus on the more important issues, but it was difficult once the doctor was mentioned. Not that he had been thinking about the man at all.

"So, what do you know about Banner?"

Sam looked like he was trying very hard to fight a grin. "Why?"

Clint scowled and folded his latest hand. "No reason. Just seems like Romanov always sends people to him. Must trust him."

"Bother you a little?"

"I just wanna be sure the people on this operation are all solid. Can't deal with any more surprises with Nat locked up."

"Fear not, Hawkeye," Thor boomed and Clint had to stop himself from shushing him. "The Widow and Dr. Banner were only involved for a brief time. It was not a serious affair. You have no competition to speak of."

"Uh... thanks, pal."

They only played a few more hands before there were footsteps on the stairs. The sparse conversation of the bar died down and everyone watched the door expectantly.

"Ah- good. I'm glad you are all here." Jarvis cleared his throat upon opening the door and finding everyone staring at him, clearly on pins and needles. "I have a message. From the Iron Man."

He took a letter from his jacket pocket and opened it, clearing his throat.

"Oh no-" Angie hopped off the piano and started backing away, palms raised. "I've seen this flicker. Everyone keep away from the hanging light fixtures."

"Please, Miss Martinelli-" Jarvis cleared his throat again before he began to read. "'My valued employees of the Iron Legion, I try not to bother you too much with useless chatter, but considering current events, I thought a quick check in might be necessary.'"

Everyone stayed silent, but most of the workers shifted skeptically. It seemed true that no one working there actually knew the mysterious owner of the club. Except, of course, Jarvis.

"'First things first: the Black Widow has indeed been arrested under suspicion of murdering the deputy commissioner of New York. For her part, please do not worry. She will be represented by the best legal team in the country. I take care of my team."

The staff didn't look entirely convinced, but no one made a protest to this claim.

"Second, the twins are currently recovering from withdrawals, but will be back playing with the band as soon as possible. In the meantime, there will be a few temporary changes to the nightly staff. Our daytime doorman, Agent, has agreed to take the full night shift for the time being. My Vision will then take up residence behind the bar mixing drinks. As for the chain of command, the Captain will handle things from the bandstand. Everyone listen to him. And the Viking and Hawkeye have full permission to sock anyone who gives him lip."

Clint raised his eyebrows at the band leader, who didn't seem surprised by his sudden promotion, but rolled his eyes at the threat made through the club's security detail.

"Our friends from the Raven have been gracious enough to continue filling in with the band. Be nice to them or they'll tell everyone we have lice."

"It's true," Angie piped up again. "That's how we got that dirty place on Fourth shut down."

"Miss Martinelli- _please_."

"So, this is how the owner communicates with you?" Clint muttered.

Sam shrugged. "No one meets the Iron Man."

"Yeah, that's what everyone says, but who is he?"

"I dunno, man."

"Ever think it might just be Romanov?"

Sam laughed. "That would be a hell of a twist."

It was an odd atmosphere at the club that night. Depending on their personal relationship with Natasha and the twins, there was a mix of relief and worry, sometimes with frustration and annoyance. But, knowing the guests had had a whole day to spread rumors and wonder what had happened the night before, they knew they had to bring the club back to its high energy and usual level of light debauchery and carelessness. The band shuffled their pages around under the drummer's orders, focusing on all their most upbeat songs. Quake and Darcy kept offering to slap people to snap them out of distraction. Without explanation, Thor filled a tub with ice water and he and Sif both dunked their heads in briefly before toweling off and going about their business with renewed vigor.

Jarvis wasn't nearly as good a bartender as Natasha. It wasn't long after the doors opened that they were horribly behind.

"You don't gotta fill them all the same same, J!"

"But each patron pays the same amount for-"

"J!"

"Alright, alright."

"Where are my drinks, gents?"

"In a second, Jemma, just- just tell them it'll be a minute."

"You tell these gorillas to-"

"Come on, Jem- work with me, please!"

" _Fine_..."

The band was distracted and still low on energy. But they did their best to act it up to match Peggy and Angie's good humor.

"I'm sure you've noticed we have the Vision behind the bar tonight."

"Unfortunately doesn't look as nice as the Widow in a dress and pearls."

"Makes a damn fine Manhattan though, doesn't he, Miss Broadway?"

"Amen! Make sure you have one for us while we're up here entertaining you all."

There was cheers and laughter out on the floor, but nearer the bar, Clint could hear gossip and mutiny on the air.

"Where's the bartender? The pretty dame one?"

"Heard she got arrested."

"Oh yeah- didn't someone die here last night?"

"Yes! The new bartender shot the regular pianist in the face. I was here, I saw everything."

"The Vision shot-"

"No, not him. The grumpy lookin short one."

Clint had to use every ounce of his energy not to beat his head against the wall.

They somehow managed to get to the end of the night without any worse incidents than usual. Clint had hoped that in the absence of the more volatile pianist, there would be no fights. At least none involving staff. However, when a drunk guest grabbed a waitress, Peggy took a few bars to slide off her bench and put him in a choke-hold.

"Jesus-"

"Oh. Of course." Jarvis sighed a lot more calmly than one should when their coworker was giving someone a bruised throat. "I _do_ remember Captain Rogers saying something about Miss Carter being one of the top field agents he met during the war."

" _Field agent_? She looks like the lady at the DMV- but classier."

"Well, I think that classy woman is putting Mr. Odinson and yourself out of business."

"You don't say."


	15. He Hadn't, Up Til Yesterday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch! Over a month. I only just got internet at my new apartment this morning, so even though it's in the middle of the work week, I'm trying to get everything updated to assure you that I'm still alive. :) Thank you for your patience! Hope you enjoy this one!

Since he was the responding officer, there was nothing untoward about Clint sitting in on Fury's meetings with Natasha's lawyer. But he could still see everyone in the bullpen watching him curiously and muttering to one another. Half of them already knew about the Little Budapest incident, and would recognize her. The ones that didn't were quickly informed by the rest. Sometimes the precinct was just as gossipy as the Legion.

Clint tried to focus on the actual case. The meetings with the lawyer were strange. They knew everything. The lawyer knew everything. But not one of them could say anything about the truth of the situation.

"Now, my client will be claiming self-defense in the death of Deputy Commissioner Alexander Pierce."

"Understood." Fury nodded and shuffled some papers in an important fashion. Clint glanced down to see they were parking ticket forms. "So far, our only witness for the prosecution is Detective Barton. He took what he thought was a personal call. He will have to testify that Miss Romanov made the wrong move in not contacting the emergency line and not telling him the nature of the situation she was in until he arrived."

"That's fair- thank you for the warning, Captain. I think you will agree that, in this case, it is in everyone's best interests that the trial proceed as soon as possible."

"Agreed."

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. He was rapidly losing his patience with these games. It wasn't helping that he didn't want to speak to anyone about any of this ever. Anyone except Natasha. But that would definitely fall under the category of "conflict of interests."

"It's also only fair," he ground out slowly, half between his teeth, "to warn you and your client that my stance, both privately and publically, is that Miss Romanov behaved in a way that was in _complete_ disregard of the safety and sanity of others."

"Understood. However, I feel obligated to inform you, Detective Barton, that Miss Romanov's personal stance on the subject is that she understands that the situation was inconvenient, specifically for you. However, she is, and I quote: 'the kind of gal who looks after herself and her own.'"

Clint opened his mouth to argue, then realized he had nothing to combat this with, work appropriate or otherwise.

"Well, thank you Mat- Mr. Murdock." Nick stuck got to his feet and the lawyer followed, sticking out a hand. "I believe we've put ourselves on track to the most civil criminal suit possible."

"Let's hope so, Captain."

~

Clint spent as much time as he could staying busy the next few weeks. But what had seemed a full schedule for the first few weeks at the Legion now felt far too empty. Halfway through driving to work, he changed his mind. He remembered the way to Jarvis's house easily and knocked on the door with more surety than he felt.

"Detective Barton, please, come in." If the doorman was surprised to see him, he didn't let it show.

"I'm not here to stay, J. I just wanted to see if Wanda wanted to see her bro-"

Before he had even finished speaking, Wanda had swept into the foyer, gloves between her teeth as she pulled on her coat over torn stockings and a dressing gown. Jarvis offered Clint a tired smile.

"It seems Miss Maximoff cannot wait to leave my company."

"Oh, hush- and do not call me that. I hate how your accent makes it sound-" she waved a hand as she searched the floor for her shoes, imitating the doorman's soft, long vowels. "Maaaximooofff- Maaaaximoooffff!"

Clint raised his eyebrows while Jarvis sighed. In the end, Wanda was out in Clint's car before he had managed a polite goodbye.

"I think you may have hurt J's feelings."

"I don't care. I have not seen my brother in _days_. And do you know how much Billy Murray that man listens to? It is my _nightmare_."

Clint tried to keep his lip from twitching as he drove across town to Sam's apartment.

"You know- I know you're upset and worried about your brother," he started after a few minutes' silence. "But I'd really appreciate it if you played nice with Wilson."

"What do you mean?" She blinked at him in clear confusion.

"Well, I know you don't like him all that much, but he's my partner and-"

"I do not dislike Detective Wilson. He is a darling man- I _adore_ him."

"They why do you always act so-"

"Barton, he is my _friend_ , and Pietro is my _brother_. It is _Pietro_ I am upset with. If and _when_ they reach a point where they will never speak to one another again, I will lose my dear friend."

Clint frowned at the stoplight ahead of him. "Well, maybe they'll never reach that point. Ever think they might just manage to stick together?"

"This is worse," she grumbled, crossing her arms petulantly. "Have you seen them when they are not fighting? It is my _other_ nightmare."

It was like Pietro knew his twin was about to arrive, as he was halfway down the stairwell when they hit the first step. Wanda let out a shriek and took the steps two at a time to meet him. Clint followed, though at a more reasonable pace as the two of them hugged frantically and jabbered away like they hadn't seen one another in years. Halfway there, a dumpy woman with armfuls of groceries brushed past him.

_"Tan fuerte, Hijo de la Luna."_

"I love you too, Mrs. Diaz!" Pietro winked at the woman as she let out a dry cackle and let herself into a door on the landing.

"She's makin fun of your pasty ass."

Clint looked up and grinned at Sam's scowl, poking over the railing on the floor above them.

"Come in- all of you. Before someone calls the cops on ya."

The twins, grinning, raced up the final flight of stairs like children, Clint following with heavy steps.

"You know, you should go into a building with an elevator."

"Oh yeah, right after I make that deal with Rockerfeller and Stark I've got brewing- come on." Sam kicked the twins' boots out of the way of the door before closing and relocking it. "What's new?"

Clint shifted his weight and in the pause listened to the wild string of Hungarian on the other side of the room. Pietro was waving a hand carelessly while Wanda pressed her hands to her mouth, looking pale and close to tears.

"What's going on?"

"Oh-" Sam started a pot of coffee and rolled his eyes. "The doctor called, that's all."

"Well what did he say-"

"It is nothing," Pietro shrugged. "My heart just beats too fast- that is all."

Clint raised his eyebrows at Sam, who scowled again.

"He's not being poetic. He's got a messed up heart and the pills sent it all off balance."

"Shit- that's serious-"

"It's not-" Pietro turned back to his twin, whose lips were trembling between her fingers. " _Ez nem rossz. Nem igazán. Igérem._  I don't even have to take medicine or anything like that. At least not until I am old and dying anyway."

Wanda smacked him hard in the shoulder. "Do not joke like this! It is not funny!"

" _I_  think it is."

"Shut up. You will live forever so I will never be sad."

"Of course. Just for you, _Vas'tacha_."

Sam rolled his eyes and jerked his head at the bedroom so the two of them could talk without distraction.

"So the trial is in-"

"Two days." Clint nodded stiffly. He realized he was wringing his hat in his hands and tried to beat it back into shape against his leg. "You goin?"

"Only if it lasts longer than a day. Captain doesn't want a wall of uniforms in a case involving one of our own. It'll look like intimidation. And we want this to come off as above-board as possible."

"Good plan." But Clint's mouth felt dry. He hadn't realized how much he'd been counting on his partner's face in the crowd when he testified.

"But don't worry, Barton, things are gunna-"

"When me and Romanov were undercover-" he blurted it out before he had even decided to tell Sam. "And we uh- we-"

"You shared a highly professional work necking?"

Clint scowled. "Yeah. Well, I liked it. I liked it a lot. But the whole story is... is she was dressed up like a man at the time."

Sam stared at him for what felt like hours.

"...Yeah?"

"Yeah? _Yeah?_  Well- what does that-" Clint struggled madly with his words for an agonizing spell. "What if that's why I liked it, huh? What the hell does it mean if I think she looks good in a tie and trousers and- and why the _hell_  are you laughing?"

Sam had crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. He tried to cover his mouth to muffle his chuckles, but that only made him look more smug, in Clint's humble opinion.

"I'm sorry- Clint- really. It's just- am I getting this right? Are you tellin me you think you might be interested in men because you kissed Romanov when she was wearing trousers?"

"Yes? _No!_ Not- I don't know what I'm tellin you. It's been a hell of a time, Sam. I'm exhausted."

"I'm just trying to wrap my head around this-" Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "You would rather consider the possibility of being interested in men than just accept that you're crazy about Romanov, no matter what she's wearin?"

Clint groaned and flopped lengthwise onto the bed. He concentrated on a stain in the ceiling tiles so he wouldn't have to think about how Sam was likely still grinning at him.

"I'm having a _crisis_ here, Wilson. The least you could do is pretend to be supportive."

"I am, I am. So- you like Romanov when she's wearin trousers. You ever like other men?"

"No- course not- I mean- No. Definitely no."

"Well the answer's pretty simple, isn't it?"

Clint groaned and ran a hand down his face. "Yeah. Answer is: I got the worst taste in history."

"Naw, I think I got you beat there."

"True. Twin too. So you get two headaches for the price of one."

Sam snorted. "Damn right."

"Is the Hawk still wondering who he wants to neck with?"

Sam whipped around and Clint sat bold upright to see both Wanda and Pietro hanging around the door of the bedroom.

"Maybe you should try kissing both of us," Wanda winked. "See which you like better."

Clint threw everything in his reach at the two of them as they ran back to the kitchen, cackling madly.


	16. Both Reached for the Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE TRIAL. Believe it or not, we're getting pretty close to the end of this one. I'm not done writing it out, so actual chapters could vary, but right now, I'm looking at one more real chapter, then an epilogue.  
> I want to thank you all for your feedback and for reading! This has been a fun little project and I never really meant for it to be this long, but I've enjoyed writing it.

The trial was scheduled for the start of December. Clint had never seen the process go so fast. Fury was trying to keep the press reeling before they could spin things out of control. Clint was grateful. So far, only the precinct knew of his involvement in the case.

Few of his fellow detectives would speak to him. No one knew full details, but it seemed enough that he was the one to peacefully bring in a cop killer. He remembered what he'd told Natasha about there being plenty of bad cops in the city, and tried not to think of what might have happened to her if he hadn't been the one to bring her in.

The morning of the trial was bleak and grey. Clint showed up early to the precinct to find Fury already there and Sam on his heels.

"Gentlemen," the Captain nodded at them over his mug of coffee. Ready to testify, Barton?"

Clint nodded. Sam clapped him on the shoulder as they made gathered their things and made their way to the snowy parking lot.

Traffic was immeasurably bad, even for winter in the city. Every block he drove behind the captain, the line of cars moved slower and slower. They were still five blocks away from the courthouse when traffic came to a complete stop. After five minutes, Clint put his car in park and let his forehead fall against the wheel. He didn't know how he was going to make it through the day ahead of him. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, it wasn't just the testifying. It was the very real possibility of a conviction.

He was so wrapped up in his own head, he jumped halfway out of his skin when the backdoor opened. A figure in a thick wool coat and a scarf wrapped around their head shuffled into the seat as he finished cursing in a steady stream.

"Shit- I'm sorry lady, but this ain't a cab. I'm just stuck-" The words died on his lips as Natasha unwrapped the scarf from her face and hair. "Goddammit Nat-"

"Don't sound so disappointed." She was trying to smile, but he could still see how pale her lips were. "I thought we could have a chat. It's been awhile since we could really talk."

"I don't wanna tal-" he cut himself off halfway through the lie. "What are you doin? This could get you into all kinds of-"

"Matty's keeping a lookout- or- listen out, as it were."

Clint glanced up to see the lawyer leaning up against the back of his assistant's car, making a great show of lighting a cigarette.

"Matty..." he didn't mean to sound so sulky.

"Oh please- it was before I even met you."

Clint considered telling her to stop acting like they were in some kind of relationship. Like he had some cause to be jealous. Like he was jealous. Because they weren't. They weren't, he didn't, and he wasn't.

"And Banner?"

She laughed in a dull, humorless sort of way. "Well... Bruce was after- I'll admit that."

He could tell she was going to say more, but needed to collect her thoughts. Clint waited patiently, staring out the windshield and trying not to let his eyes flick to his rearview mirror.

"You- during that Little Budapest job. We had a good time, didn't we? Then you closed off, just before your little accident."

Clint tried to scoff at her choice of words in an attempt to hide that he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"I'll admit it, I'm a little proud. But not too proud to admit I took it personally."

Clint tapped his fingers on the wheel and stared straight ahead, not processing anything. "You did, huh?"

"And I'll admit I... I was starting to maybe think some things. Some things I shouldn't have been thinking."

"About..."

"About a married cop."

He knew it was coming, but it still felt like a kick in the gut to hear her say it.

"I knew it was useless thinking that way, so after you got shot, I may have thrown myself a little too hard into things with Bru-"

"It was already over."

He heard her shift and didn't need to see to know she had looked up in surprise. He had never wanted to tell her this. He never wanted to talk to anyone about this. And he never wanted to talk to Natasha about Laura, specifically.

"What?"

"I- we were already planning on separating. We were just working out how to tell everyone we knew. We decided weeks before I even met you."

She let him go on, just like he had let her say what she needed to a moment before.

"It- we keep saying it wasn't anyone's fault. We got married right out of college. Then the war. We were- we were apart for years. We lived our lives separate for so long, that when we tried to live together again..." he groaned and rubbed his hands down his face. "We were different people than the ones that got together in the first place. Tried to make it work for years, but- well, here we are."

"I... I didn't know that."

"Course not. No one does." He took a breath. "But- even though it was done..."

"You never would have-"

"She saw us."

There was a moment of still silence that filled every inch of the inside of his car.

"We never-"

"We never did anything married men shouldn't do," he finished for her. "But she saw us on the way into the Dame that night. It... she knew it was a case. But it was enough."

"Enough." She didn't say it like a question, but there was prompting in her voice anyway. He had never heard her so reticent.

"She could tell I... I was more myself with you than I'd been with her in a long time." He sighed again and sat back in the seat, letting himself look into the rearview mirror to see her expression. "So- yeah. That would be about the time I closed off, I think."

She was staring into the mirror too. Just as their eyes met, the lawyer put out his cigarette and let out a sharp whistle, audible even inside the car.

"Well- perfect timing-" Natasha had wrapped herself up once more and was out of the car before he could say anything else.

~

"Now, can you explain to the jury what happened after you arrived at the Hotel Cicero, Detective Barton?"

Technically, he was the witness for the prosecution. Maybe he was too much of a cop, but Clint had never seen much of a difference. The point of testifying was to tell the truth. It shouldn't make a difference who he was telling it for. Shouldn't.

"I asked the concierge to bring me to Miss Romanov's room. She answered the door and let me in."

"What did she say at this time?"

"Come in."

A few people in the courthouse twittered.

"Do you know the exact moment you realized this was not a social visit?"

"Well- when I saw the dead body on the floor."

He hadn't meant it to sound sarcastic, but he could see the judge scowling out of the corner of his eye.  Some of the public sniggered again.

"So, the defendant did not tell you of the situation's nature until you had already seen the victim?"

"Correct."

"What happened once you saw the body of Deputy Commissioner Pierce?"

"I asked the defendant what happened and she told me he attacked her."

"Can you elaborate?"

Clint cleared his throat and took a drink from the glass of water they had given him. He was trying to ignore the public seated behind the railing, but it was difficult. Half the band and wait staff of the Iron Legion were dispersed amongst the crowd. He didn't know if he was being paranoid, but he thought they were as easy to pick out as the glaring officers in uniform.

“Both of us were under duress. I’m not comfortable enough with my memory of the conversation to quote it.”

“Can you paraphrase?”

Clint cleared his throat again. “I asked if she killed him, and-“

“You naturally assumed she was the one who killed Deputy Commissioner Pierce?”

“Well, she was the only person there. Process of elimination.”

Several people laughed again. Darcy winked at him from the third row.

“Detective Barton if you could please adjust your attitude? We _are_ discussing the murder of one of your own.”

Clint tried to keep a straight, serious expression instead of asking if it was possible to answer these questions with a respectful attitude.

“Did your assumption have anything to do with your history with the defendant’s violent assault case?”

“Objection! Prosecution is leading the witness.”

For all that Clint couldn’t make himself like the lawyer, he had to admit that Matt was relentless in his protection of their team’s every right. He could see why the Iron Man might refer to the small, unknown firm of Nelson and Murdock as the best lawyers money could buy.

He managed to make it all the way through the prosecutor’s questions. Natasha’s lawyer was mainly concerned with establishing her persona. Which, once she took the stand, was the real show.

“Now, Miss Romanov, in your own words, tell us what happened.”

Natasha was almost unrecognizable in her powder blue silk day dress and hat. She looked like she was going to church. Like a boring little suburban doctor’s daughter going into town for church. It was disturbing to say the least.

“Oh- I- I got a call at my apartment from the Cicero. It was Comm- Deputy Commissioner Pierce.” She was twisting a hankie in her gloved hands. “I thought it might be something about- about the incident a few years ago.”

“Can you explain what you mean by that?”

It was an act of trust- bringing up the assault case. Clint watched in awe as she told a tearful tale of how she was so scared when the man had grabbed her a few years ago that she blacked out and didn’t even remember how she sent him to the hospital. There was no way anyone would believe this.

“I sw-swear Mister-“ she turned to the judge, sniffling pitifully. “I was just scared then. And I was scared this time too! But- But I remember what happened this time. He was going to kill me! He had his gun and-“

“Miss Romanov, it is not _me_ you have to convince, it is the _jury_.”

“Oh!” She actually fluttered her lashes a bit before reorienting herself in her seat to plea with the bench of jurors.

There was no way any rational adult would ever believe her syrupy sweet act. It seemed, then, that the jury held not one rational adult. Two had their hands on their hearts. One was actually crying.

It was incredible to watch. Natasha and Matt fed off each other’s energy like actors on a stage. They had even the hardest of the jury on the edge of their seats. But with each juror that became more and more sympathetic, Clint could almost feel the growing mutinous aura emanating from just about every one of the officers in uniform behind him.

It was lucky that the trial proceeded only into the early afternoon before the jury was sent out to deliberate. Clint could see Dum Dum and Gabe edging closer to Detective Rumlow from the 9-8 every time he cracked his knuckles. As much as Clint had never really _liked_ the other detective, he wished they would stop. The courthouse was starting to feel like a riot waiting to happen. He got up when the jury was released and found the men’s room. He splashed cold water on his face and stood at the sink for what felt like hours, but must have only been a few minutes. He couldn’t handle this. Despite what seemed to be clear sympathy for Natasha from the jury, he was still partially convinced there would be a conviction. He had kept himself from imagining what he would do in any outcome, but now he was faced with the reality. Soon. Soon he would find out Natasha’s fate. And, selfishness non-withstanding, what he would do about either possibility. He had gotten used to her being in his life again- seeing her almost every day of the week. Even if she saw no time, Fury might nix the precinct’s involvement in the Legion after all the attention the situation had drawn both parties. He might even forbid them contact with anyone from the Legion.

Thinking back to the two figures in back of the audience- a man with hat pulled over his hair and a woman with a thick scarf wrapped around her face and hair, but not enough that she couldn’t still wink at Clint when he saw them- he thought might be easier said than done. For all that their relationship seemed to include more spells of “on the outs” than not, he didn’t think Sam or Pietro would react very well to someone _else_ telling them not to see one another anymore, let alone any feelings he might have for Natasha.

He was about to hide in a stall for a few minutes, just to take the time to think, when the door burst open.

“They’re back-“ Murdock’s stout, blond co-council was breathless. “Jury’s back in. Verdict about to be-“ he waved his hands, clearly too excited to explain fully to the handful of men still in the lavatory. “Just- it’s over!”

Clint cleared his throat and followed at a stiff walk out of the restroom.

“How- how do you two think it went?”

“Good, great- I mean- I think. Of course- when you’re a lawyer, you get a sense for the tone of a jury. I mean, once you have experience-“

“You haven’t won a case before, have you?”

The lawyer let out a high, nervous laugh.

“What? Of course not- I mean- we’ve won cases. Of course we have. It’s just murder is such a difficult- I mean- _serious_ -“

“Oh shit.”

They slipped into the crowd and took their seats as quickly as they could. Soon enough, the gavel fell.

“Order. Jury, have you reached a verdict?”

“Yes, your honor.”

Clint couldn’t even look at the back of Natasha’s head. He felt faint.

“We the jury rule that, in the death of Alexander Pierce, Natasha Romanov acted in self defense, and we must rule the death an excusable homicide.”


	17. The Way You Look Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are. The end of the line. Minus the epilogue of course. But really, this is the true end of the story. I hope you've enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed writing! Thanks for sticking with the Legion until the end.

The hall erupted before the verdict was completely voiced. Rage from many of the officers present mixed with the cheers and crows from the staff of the Legion.

Clint didn’t stick around. He had been able to smell the fight since the morning and didn’t quite feel up to seeing it. He pushed his way to the back of the hall, not caring when people cried out and grumbled. He spotted Thor and Jarvis near the back and slapped both of their shoulders.

“Keep them from getting themselves killed- alright?”

“Yes sir, Detective!” Thor boomed, just as merry as always.

Out in the hall, he almost ran into pepper, the Ears, on her way to the payphone, Coulson hot on her heels.

Clint was halfway across the neighborhood before he realized he wasn’t driving home. He had already entered the tailor shop when he realized that neither Jarvis, nor Coulson could be there to let him down into the club. He stood around awkwardly for a moment before sitting behind the counter and examining the cash register. It seemed normal enough, and he’d almost moved on to examine the wall when he saw something odd about the “zero” key. It looked like someone had taken a tiny paintbrush to the key to draw a small, slit-eyed face inside the oval. Clint frowned at it, trying to decide if it meant anything. His eyes wandered around the back counter until they caught on a book tucked near the garment boxes. Picking it up, he groaned. _The Man in the Iron Mask_. It was amazing the Legion had stayed under the radar so long with the levels of subtlety the workers were capable of. He flipped through the book until he found a dog-eared page with the phrase “six times” circled in red ink.

Almost praying that such a simple code wouldn’t work, he pressed the 0 key six times. The tie rack swung away just as it did when Coulson or Jarvis sat behind the counter. Clint shook his head and silently vowed to confront Natasha about upping the security of the speakeasy before descending the stairs into the silent bar below. It took him almost ten minutes to find the light controls. The space looked cavernous without anyone in it. Even when it had just been he and Natasha, he thought the Legion had always seemed claustrophobic, to an extent. Now, he could see the scratches on the tables, the chips in every leg of furniture, the dust on the wainscoting that was too high to reach easily. Empty of guest, musicians, dancers and servers, the spell of the Legion was broken.

He jumped nearly a foot in the air at the sound of feet on the stairs.

“Oh good- it’s you, Barton!” Rogers grinned as he held the door open for what looked to be half the staff. “We hoped you made it out before things got ugly.”

The staff all looked far too cheerful for a group of people who had clearly just been a fight. Sif grinned at him through split lips as she passed on her way to the ice box to help Gabe and Jaques with their swollen jaws.

“I told you to look after them.” Clint squared off with Thor and Jarvis as they came pouring through the door. The latter looked more disheveled than Clint had ever seen him. His shirt tails were loose and his usual immaculate hair was a mess.

“I’m sorry. It seems they could not be stopped.”

“And you only asked us to keep everyone alive!” Thor boomed. He was the only one without a scratch on him, though Clint doubted he hadn’t been involved in the fighting. “Everyone is alive and well. And together, of course.”

“How nice for them.”

The twins nearly knocked Jarvis over as they all-but fell into the club, laughing as they threw off their hats and scarves used to mask their appearance.

“Did you get it?”

“Yes!”

“And he-“

“No. No idea it was me.”

_“Kirláy!”_

“Would you two just-“

“Oh, enough from you, Edmund Jarvis!” Wanda scowled and brushed past the doorman on her way inside. There were beads missing from her dress and her long hair had fallen almost completely out of its headband. “I will have no more of your meddling.”

“Goddamn-“Sam had fought his way through the crowd. He slapped Clint’s shoulder warmly, but clearly didn’t have time for any other explanation as he searched through the crowd. “Hey- Maximoff! Got a bone to pick with you!”

Clint was jostled more as more of the Legion’s staff poured in. But the one face he was looking for was still missing from the chaos.

“Ears!” He fought his way to Pepper and touched her arm to get her attention. “Where-“

“Dete- I mean- Hawkeye, I’m afraid I can’t answer any questions-“ Clint didn’t think it should be possible for someone to walk so quickly through a crowd in heels. “Not until I find a phone.”

“But you were just-“

But she was gone before he could point out that she had just been on the phone in the courthouse. He searched through the mess of battered and disheveled musicians and waitresses, to no success. He was just about to give up and climb the stairs again when her voice cut through the rabble.

“Thanks for the testimony, Detective.”

He forced himself to turn slowly to see her. She’d changed from the terrible blue dress into a large, soft shirt and trousers- her typical outfit for pre-opening cleaning. The familiarity was like a kickstart to his brain- cutting away everything else he wanted to hold onto. Clint struggled to think of a single thing to say.

“You-“

He was interrupted by explosions of shouting on either side of him. Wanda and Jarvis were going back and forth in Hungarian- hers rapid, his stumbling and slow. Sam and Pietro looked about ready to come to blows.

“You _decked_ an officer! In front of a judge!”

“You heard what he was shouting! I had to do someth-“

“You didn’t _have_ to do anything! You always do whatever the hell you want and damn everyone else! And- not to bring this up too soon, but case in point: you’re a damn _addict_!”

“Only recently!”

“Ugh!” Wanda switched to English in sheer frustration. “I cannot even stand to hear you speak this! You are so-“

“Miss Maximoff, _please_ -“

“Stop _calling_ me that! It is just another way you try to keep distant! Why? Because you are afraid?”

“Yes! I’m afraid you are rushing into something with me that could ruin your whole _life_ , Wanda! You’re young, and-“

“You always say this! You think I am a child? That I can’t think for myself?”

“Enough!”

Clint’s shout spurred on a hush that fell on the whole bar. Sam was staring at him and Natasha cocked an eyebrow. He felt his neck grow hot. He hadn’t meant to say it so loud, but since he had everyone’s attention, he felt compelled to go on.

“Honestly- do any of you know how to care about a person without biting their head off?” He swallowed as he realized that everyone was likely waiting for him to make some great speech now that he had their attention. “Now- I’m not the smartest guy in the room, I’m sure. But I notice things. And you know what I’ve noticed here? All of you! You can’t manage to have a single conversation without boilin over! The only ones never at each other’s throats are them two-“ he jerked a thumb at Angie and Peggy.

“Well, I wouldn’t say _never_ …” the smaller woman muttered somewhat darkly.

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose as the two started to bicker.

“Well, I don’t know what kind of problems _they’ve_ got-“ he rounded on the doorman and the jazz singer. “But you two! J- you _really_ think a dame this smart hasn’t thought things through? If you love someone, you don’t try to tell them what they think and feel ain’t real. Maybe she’ll stay with you forever- maybe not. But _nobody_ knows that! She’s obviously decided she wants you _now_ , so quit acting like some martyr for pushing her away. And _I_ shouldn’t be the one explaining this!” Wanda scowled and crossed her arms as he turned his accusations on her. “I know he’s the one who balked and started the fight, but it would end a whole lot quicker if you sat him down and _talked_ to him instead of blowin your stack!”

The two glanced at one another, but seemed at last, stunned into silence as Clint moved on.

“Havin a conversation might do _you_ some good too.” Sam opened his mouth as if to argue, but Clint kept going. “How can you two not realize that you’d both rather be angry than admit you’re scared?”

“I am _not_ -“

“You’re not scared?” Clint raised his eyebrows at the scowling pianist. “That why you gotta clock any bigot that steps foot in this place? And why _you_ get pissed at him every time he gets his dumb ass hurt?”

Sam tried to scoff, but Clint was already going on.

“How ‘bout you _both_ drop the tough guy act and admit you’re worried sick cuz you know how ugly people can be?”

Before they could reply, he’d spun completely around.

“And _you_ -“ He jabbed a finger at Natasha now, who only raised an eyebrow. For a moment, they just stared at one another. Clint was very aware that everyone was watching, and couldn’t bring himself to care. “Well, dammit, I’m runnin out of excuses when it comes to you!”

He took a step forward and heard a gasp somewhere behind him. It was probably Darcy. But before he could reach her, there was another thundering of footsteps on the stairs.

“I knew I’d find garden variety criminals here…” Clint’s heart sank at the voice and turned to see Detective Brock Rumlow standing in the doorway, a very unpleasant smile on his face. “But two crooked cops? I’m going to be eating out on this bust for years.”

He grinned at Clint and Sam. With a sinking feeling, Clint noticed a suspicious absence of a badge on Rumlow’s uniform. And, sure enough, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of something gold in Pietro’s hand as he passed it to his sister and Wanda slipped it down the front of her dress.

“Welcome to the Iron Legion, Sir.” To Jarvis’s credit, he did not even flinch as he went about his duties as though this was how guests normally appeared at the club. “May I see your invitation?”

Rumlow sneered. “Afraid I misplaced mine. But my pals are just behind me, and I’m sure they’ve got enough for us all.”

“I don’t think so.” Pietro was sticking his jaw out like he did before all the other fights started.

Rumlow’s eyes narrowed and he sneered down at the pianist. “Seen you down in the holding cells before, haven’t I you little ki-“

Sam interrupted before the other detective could finish his insult and the fight began.

“That’s enough, Detective.”

“Is it?” Rumlow turned his condescending expression on Sam now. “The commissioner may be proud of his little experiment, giving you and Fury free reign in your neighborhood, but it won’t last. I’d sure love to be the one to put an end to the whole embarrassing mess.”

Clint was about to speak up himself to keep Pietro from stepping forward, but Sam had thrown a forceful arm out, hitting the pianist in the chest and effectively stopping his reaction long enough to allow the conversation to continue with words instead of fists.

“Please, Detective,” amazingly, Sam’s expression of condescension was somehow even more devastating than Rumlow’s. “I served this country for five years before I served this city for ten. And every step of the way there’s been guys like you- sometimes entire armies of ‘em. So you’re gunna have to try a little harder if you wanna scare me.”

Clint had to try to keep his lip frown twitching, even if the air was still tense around them. Pietro made a very small noise in the back of his throat that was somewhere between a nervous laugh and an outright squeak.

 _“Én még soha nem volt ennyire be van kapcsolva az életemben_.”

“ _Ne legyen undorító_.” Wanda muttered.

The tension in the air was already gravy thick by the time more steps began to descend the stairs toward the open door behind Rumlow. The whole place was braced for more chaos, though most of them had just gotten out of a fight themselves. Which is why nearly every single one of them did a swift double take at the voice proceeding the hand-tooled Italian leather oxfords that had just appeared.

“Honey, I’m home!”

Clint thought for a moment he was hallucinating. The whole scene was surreal, like the night at the Cicero.  Just like how Natasha had not killed Deputy Commissioner Alexander Pierce after he sold dope to her singer and pianist, then hired a blind lawyer to defend her, he was not currently standing squared off against Detective Brock Rumlow in a gilded speakeasy with Tony Stark, genius and billionaire, smirking down at them.

“So glad you got the news, Detectives,” Stark nodded not just to Rumlow, but Sam and Clint as well. “I’ve been making the arrangements for this little get together since I got the news, but it seems I was still a little late. Hope you all haven’t been waiting long on my account.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark,” still, Jarvis held his footing, as if the whole night was going exactly according to plan. “Everyone accounted for with an invitation.”

“Have the libations arrived?” Stark strode confidently through the crowd behind the bar. Half the staff visually cringed as he lifted a bottle of whiskey from behind the counter. “Excellent. Good to see the planes in Havana can really scramble when they need to.”

“Havana?” Rumlow sneered. “Even if you did just have that flown in- which I highly doubt- it’s still illegal for you to have it.”

“Not as of-“ Stark shook out his sleeve to check his Rolex. “Two and a half hours ago. But of course you knew that. Why else would you be so far out of your jurisdiction? I just met your squad chatting with Captain Fury from the local precinct about that outside.”

Rumlow was clenching his jaw. Clint saw his hand twitch towards his holster.

“And it’s not just the new amendment we’re celebrating at one of my unused properties, is it?” Stark went on, mixing a drink and nodding to Natasha. “Glad to hear justice was served, Miss Romanov.”

The words he said were slow to seep into Clint’s mind. Amendment. Havannah. Two hours. Fury. Justice.

At last, Stark grinned at all of them and raised his glass.

“Why the long faces? Let’s have a toast to get things started! To friends! Both old, and new.” He gestured with his glass first to Jarvis, then Clint. “And the end of prohibition!”

There was a moment of silence before Thor had the good sense to shout “here here!” and the place erupted into cheers. Amid all the jostling and shouting that followed, a hand slid down his arm to grip his hand.

“Now then, Detective. What was that about distractions?”

Clint made sure to close his eyes as Natasha tugged gently at his tie this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, my approach to historical accuracy on this fic has been loose at best. I have a tendency to get lost in researching, so my strategy for this silly fun one has been google and skim the first bit I can find. So I feel obligated to note that alcohol did not become legal overnight after prohibition was repealed. It was a long boring process like any legal matter. However, this is just more fun. AND DRAMATIC.


	18. Epilogue: Sometimes I'm Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't have an excuse. But here we are! I hope you have enjoyed your time at the Iron Legion! Be sure to come back soon and drive safe. Check the end for a fun addition!

Clint was one of the few people in the city with an actual invitation to the grand opening of the Iron Legion, Jarvis assured him. Along with Sam and Fury, of course. The rest of New York was lined up outside like the place was a ride at Coney Island. Popular thinking seemed to be that a dancehall owned by none other than Tony Stark had to be worth the hype. No matter that half the city had been going to the underground version of the club for several years now. It was the glamour that mattered. The chance to be photographed among the city’s elite. The place was packed to the gills.

“Nice to see you dressed up.” Sam grinned and gestured to the purple tie around his neck.

“I didn’t pick it out,” Clint grumbled before his eye caught a bit silk at his partner’s throat in an electric blue shade he was sure Sam wouldn’t pick out himself. “Looks like you had some help too, huh?”

Sam ignored this and jerked his head toward the main doors on the opposite side of the coat check. “Shall we?”

Clint straightened his cuffs and nodded. He was tense. For no real reason, of course. It wasn’t as though he actually missed the Legion that was. It wasn’t as though he was certain whatever was on the other side of that door would not compare to the electricity of the basement.

But opening the door was an explosion that felt like the comfort of his favorite scotch. The new club was huge- with vaulted ceiling complete with chandelier. But somehow, it felt just as packed as the old version. Bodies pressed them on all sides as they joined the chaos. Clint scanned the crowd and was once more comforted. Jemma, Quake- Daisy, as it turned out- and the rest still ran drinks. Darcy still danced. Pepper still looked like she had tabs on every single person who walked through the door. But this time, there was another figure at her elbow.

“So glad you two made it,” Stark shook both their hands and didn’t flinch at the flash of the nearby cameras. “Band’s really swingin tonight, huh? That Rogers sure knows how to put a team together.”

It was the exact same band. Though they weren’t performing, even Angie and Peggy were there, dancing on the floor and mingling with stars and socialites. The brass was in top form, even with Sam replaced by a large, jovial mechanic Jemma knew from her day job. Steve looked much more at home in this version of the club and more than a few admirers were hanging around an indifferent Sif. The twins looked better than they had in weeks.

“I thought you got rid of this one, Pep?”

Pepper gave Sam a rueful smile. “I’ve tried, but it seems some men can hold their arsenic.”

Stark grinned and, to Clint’s surprise, Pepper allowed him to snake an arm around her waist and press a kiss to her cheek.

“Don’t I know it.”

“Speaking of controlled substances and things that I know nothing about because none of my employees are gossips and even if they were I am far too busy for that sort of thing,” Stark rattled this off as though it were a conversation starter he used often. Clint suspected he probably did. “How are our favorite charmingly reckless twins doing?”

“Just fine, sir.” Sam may have once scowled at being asked, but the way things had been going, Clint could see his lip twitching even as he tried to keep a professional air. “Both clean since Miss Romanov was arrested five months ago.”

“And I certainly haven’t heard that the tall one is down to half a pack a day as well.”

“Yeah, I heard that too. That one can be bribed and blackmailed. The little one’s a bit tougher to crack.”

“Ah well, I’ve got some of my best men on it. Or I would- if I meddled in my employee’s vices. Can’t have anything happening to that voice.”

Sam tried to look annoyed as they watched the activity of the bandstand. But his lip was twitching and Clint couldn’t help but notice the familiar maroon tie wrapped around the pianist’s wrist.

“I think they’ll be alright,” Clint addressed Stark while Sam was otherwise distracted.

Stark gave his shoulder a bracing slap and laughed. “You’re a-“

“A good guy, yeah, I know. Why does everybody keep sayin that?”

Stark and Pepper laughed.

“Don’t take it too hard, Detective,” Pepper raised her eyebrows over his shoulder as she spoke. “Not everyone has such a low opinion of you.”

Clint grabbed a drink from Daisy as she passed by. He took a sip as he turned.

“Little dry.”

Natasha scowled, tapping her toe as he turned. With the new legality of liquor, she’d updated her wardrobe. Not that part of him didn’t miss the short little frocks and sequins, but the latest styles lengthened her figure and he’d always liked her hair long.

“What would you know? Straight-laced cop such as yourself.”

“Who, me?” He sat at the bar between them. “I’m the crookedest cop in the city.”

“Are you?”

“Oh yeah. Didn’t you hear? I got a Russian bootlegger livin with me.”

“Well,” she passed a few drinks off to Jemma. “I haven’t finished bringing all my things. So technically-“

Clint made a great show of huffing and throwing his hands up. “What else do you got? You already filled up half the bedroom with your clothes.”

“Just because _some_ people only own two suits-“

“Oh, don’t get me started on your _suits_.”

She finally broke a smile and leaned over the bar. “Oh but Detective, I thought you _liked_ my suits.”

“Wonder what gave you that idea.”

“Sam, mostly.”

“Wilson’s a dirty gossip.”

She smiled and beckoned him closer. Clint made another show of deliberating before leaning in. He could smell her perfume- something common enough, but Clint still thought he could pick it out at a store without checking the label. He could almost taste her lipstick, how close she was muttering to his mouth.

“Maybe you like Mr. Nathan’s suits better.”

“Maybe I’m gunna kill a guy named Sam Wilson.”

He let her kiss him, quick, then slower, lifting a hand to his jaw. Clint leaned in and would have thoroughly enjoyed continuing to kiss her if someone hadn’t slapped his shoulder.

“Hey detective- no one’s payin you to kiss the damn Russian.”

Clint elbowed Sam away from him and took Natasha’s hand, guiding her out from behind the bar. She followed, but with a reluctant glance back to be sure Jarvis had filled her place.

“I can’t be away too-“

“You never take me dancing. And anyway, they’re playing our song.”

Natasha looked about to ask when they got a song all to themselves, but gave up.

 _“Sometimes I love you,  
_ _Sometimes, I hate you…”_

It was hard to find space on the dance floor, but they managed somehow. The song was a good speed- not fast enough that the guest’s dancing had reached wild levels, but not too slow as to be sentimental. They moved easily to it, though neither of them were following any steps. Even so, Clint put a hand on her waist and tangled his opposite fingers with hers. She was giving him “one hell of a look,” as Sam would say, but not in the way he might have once meant it.

 _“I never mind the rain in the sky  
_ _As long as there is sun in your eyes…”_

“When did we decide on this as our song again?”

“What? You don’t like it?”

“Oh I like it just fine,” she dropped her cheek onto his shoulder, kissing his jaw on the way down. “Would be great for a wedding dance.”

“Think so?” When she only hummed in response, he went on. “Are you asking?”

“Only if you agree. If you say no, then I pretend I’m joking.”

“Well, I’m not so sure I’m ready to marry someone so chicken.”

She made an indignant sort of noise and straightened back up, scowling. “No one calls the Black Widow chicken. And furthermore, I wouldn’t have to come up with such a plan if you’d do the decent thing and ask me yourself.”

“Are you kiddin? What if you said no? I’d have to find another place to drink.”

She smiled and dropped her cheek back down to his shoulder. “Chicken.”

 _“That’s how I am_  
_So what can I do?  
_ _I’m happy when I’m with you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like, here's the playlist of the songs used for my chapter titles [HERE](http://8tracks.com/nellmakinjams/easy-speaking-medley)!  
> Not sure if that's going to work- feel like ao3 is funny about links.


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